


Faith

by northernlass49



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 79
Words: 100,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1373698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northernlass49/pseuds/northernlass49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon has summoned a dragon to the north in the firm belief that it will be their salvation. And while Sansa has faith in Jon, she struggles to believe that dragons are the means to deliver the north from oblivion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sansa awoke with a start. She sat up and turned her attention immediately to Torrhen but her infant son still slept soundly in his cradle. Ghost appeared to be sleeping, too, in his usual spot near the heir to Winterfell but his ears were twitching as he sensed her movements. He had been Torrhen’s self-appointed sentry since the day the young boy had been born a scant three moons past and he was rarely off duty. Ghost opened his red eyes and raised his head as Sansa rose from the bed and crossed over to the window. She opened the shutters, breathing in deeply the cold, early morning air and noticed that the yard was strangely silent. Something was amiss.

Normally the air would be filled with the sounds of the animals waking up. The cock would be crowing, the chickens would be clucking and the pigs would be snorting. By now the mourning doves should have begun their early morning lament. Then her attention was diverted by the sight of a man crossing the yard and heading towards the main gate. It was Jon. He stopped by the gate to speak to the guard on duty. They exchanged a few words and then the both of them raised their faces to the sky, dimly lit by the sun was that was peeking over the horizon, casting its rosy hues over the freshly fallen snow. 

Sansa gently closed the shutters and dressed quickly. She paused by the door and glanced back at Ghost. She knew instinctively that he understood the meaning of her look -- guard the boy. Then she quietly closed the door behind her, hurried through the corridors and out the door to join her husband. 

She found Jon pacing restlessly on the battlement. She croaked out his name to get his attention, her voice constricted by fear. He turned in response to her call and she could see that although there was tension in his jaw, there was no fear in his face. She relaxed a little. He opened his cloak as a silent invitation to join him. She drew the cloak around them both, grateful for the added warmth and comfort. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, his breath warm and sweet. She closed her eyes briefly as she wrapped her arms around him and leaned into his chest, letting the rhythm of his heart soothe her ragged nerves.

As she raised her eyes to meet his, she saw the unspoken question on his face. Ghost, she mouthed in response. He nodded and returned his gaze to the sky.

“Although”, she added out loud, “even Ghost won’t be much of a defense if it all goes wrong”.

He shook his head slightly. 

“It won’t”, he replied with small smile.

“How can you be so sure?” she asked in a tremulous voice.

“I have faith”, he replied simply.

Faith, mused Sansa, was not normally a word in her husband’s lexicon. As a boy, Jon emulated her father in all respects, including worshiping the old gods. But as he grew older, he became more pragmatic in his outlook on life as duty and honor and, later love, became his guiding principles. Faith, prophecy and dreams normally had little sway in how he conducted his life. But lately she had begun to wonder if the red priestess had influenced Jon more than he realized.

“She will be very angry when she discovers that it has gone”, said Sansa with a deep sigh. “She will come looking for it and then she will learn the truth”.

“I know”, replied Jon grimly, “and I’m ready for whatever may come”.

They felt the wind pick up as the sun rose higher in the sky. The air moved like waves crashing on the shore. Sansa ducked her head and pressed her face into Jon’s chest as he held her fast, fearful that the fierce winds might pull her from his grasp. The sentries scurried from their posts to take shelter from the unrelenting blasts of cold air. 

There was a shout from one of the men as he pointed at a dark object moving rapidly through the bright blue sky towards the castle. At first it appeared to be a bird of enormous girth and wingspan. That is until it emitted fire from its enormous maw. A dragon has come to the north, thought Sansa, and it will either save us or destroy us.


	2. Chapter 2

The winds slowly abated as the dragon drew closer to Winterfell. Sansa loosened her grip on Jon’s leather vest and turned to witness the spectacle before her. She knew the creature through the songs and legends that had spread this far north – Viserion, the cream and gold colored dragon. It silently circled the castle overhead with its bulbous yellow eyes trained on the people assembling in the yard below.

“Please forgive us for what we have summoned here today”, whispered Sansa, offering up a prayer to the Seven, “and protect us from what is to come”.

Many of the servants were huddled together by the entrances to the castle, eager to see the creature long thought extinct. They gasped as the dragon exhaled bursts of flames, laying bare patches of wet earth that the thick layers of snow once covered. 

They must return inside, thought Sansa frantically, for I will never forgive myself if any innocents were to die due to our folly. She turned back to Jon to urge him to direct the people of Winterfell to safety but he was transfixed by the sight before him. His eyes were vacant and his hands were raised as if in supplication. She had seen this look before when he slipped inside Ghost’s skin and she felt her skin prickle with the realization that Jon was attempting to control the scaly beast.

Her eyes darted back to the people that had amassed in the yard and she spotted Sam struggling to make his way through the gathering. She caught his eye and he stopped dead in his tracks. She shook her head and jerked her chin towards the castle. Then she laid a gentle hand on Jon’s arm and watched as a look of understanding crept over the maester’s face. He nodded curtly and turned back towards the crowd.

“All right, then”, Sam called out genially, with his arms raised at his sides and waving his hands, ”it’s time we return inside before somebody gets hurt. Single file, everyone, and pay attention to the little ones”. 

There were some frowns and muttered oaths from some of the throng but eventually everyone dispersed after much cajoling from Sam. As they slowly disappeared from view, a lone woman was left hovering in the doorway with a small squalling bundle in her arms. She gently rocked the baby as she looked beseechingly at Sansa. Sam paused before her and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. Then Ghost emerged by her side, his teeth bared and his eyes fixed on the danger hovering above.

“Sam, please…”Sansa cried as she gathered up her skirts and moved to descend the steps to the yard. Sam trotted across the yard and mounted the steps as quickly as his legs would allow. Sansa met him halfway down and grasped his shoulders with great urgency.

“Stay with Jon”, she commanded,” and I will see to Torrhen”.

He nodded and continued to climb the steps until he reached Jon’s side. Sansa continued down the steps and fled across the yard to retrieve her son whose cries had now become frantic. She felt a tingling in her breasts and then a warm, wet sensation spread across the bodice of her dress. The baby was overdue for his feed and his cries had triggered a letdown of milk.

She told the anxious nursemaid to accompany her to her chambers as she swept her cloak around her leaking breasts. Then she paused briefly to issue one more order.

“Ghost, to me!” she yelled when the direwolf remained motionless in the doorway. He stood with his hackles raised for a moment longer before turning away from the entrance and following her up the stairs.

It took a few minutes of soothing words and gentle swaying to calm Torrhen down before he was able to latch on properly to feed. As she watched her son sucking contentedly at her breast, Sansa kept an ear cocked for any signs of development outside. The air that wafted in from the yard smelled of sulphur and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. She had heard tales that the atmosphere of the great dragon pits of old could choke a man to death. 

As she switched sides, she could hear shouts coming from the yard. The clamor grew louder as more voices joined in. Sansa felt a knot tightening in the pit of her stomach as she glanced uneasily towards the open window. She caught a glimpse of the dragon as it descended slowly from the sky, its great leathery wings flapping powerfully. Then out of the din she heard a noise that caused her heart to skip a beat. It was the air-splitting scream of a man in agony.


	3. Chapter 3

Ghost scrambled to his feet, ran to the closed door and began to paw at it frantically. There was a sharp knock as if in response and a soft voice called out from the other side asking Sansa if all was well. 

“Open the door quickly!” Sansa hissed, trying not to disturb Torrhen who had now fallen asleep in her arms. 

The hapless nursemaid opened the door and was almost knocked over by the direwolf brushing past her. She stared after Ghost with frightened eyes before turning back to Sansa, her hands held out to take the sleeping child from her mistress’ arms.

Sansa tried to remain calm in the face of Ghost’s abrupt departure. She quickly tied the laces on the bodice and gave instructions to the nursemaid to remain with Torrhen until further notice. Sweeping her cloak around her she left the room determined to find out what was happening outside. 

She met a guard running up the stairs as she was about to descend them. His face was red with exertion.

“Milady, the maester has instructed me to fetch you. You must come to the yard immediately”, he puffed out.

“What happened?” she asked sharply as she followed after him.

“I don’t rightly know”, he replied, “Lord Snow instructed us to either take shelter or move outside the castle walls for safety before the dragon descended into the yard. I was inside the kitchen when I heard the screams”.

He paused for a second to catch his breath.

“As far as I know, his lordship was the only person in the yard when it happened”, he added with a small catch in his voice.

Sansa felt the blood drain from her face and she grabbed at the man’s arm for support.

“Take me to him…now”, she whispered huskily, her voice thick with emotion. 

He nodded silently and patted her hand. 

Sansa moved as if in a daze. When they reached the entrance to the yard, he restrained her from moving further.

“Please, milady, it’s not safe”, he pleaded.

Viserion was crouched in the middle of the yard, its long tail twitching ominously and the air around its body shimmering from the heat that it gave off. The only sounds she heard was the low pulsating sound that emitted from the dragon and the murmurs of the crowd that had gathered again in the doorways.

Sansa’s eyes strained to find her husband, hoping that he was still alive and had only passed out due to the pain but she could see no sight of him. Sam appeared suddenly by her side and drew an arm around her shoulders. She clutched at his hand as she let out a loud sob of pain and grief.

“There, there”, he said sympathetically as he gave her a quick squeeze. “He dashed out before anybody realized what he was doing. I expect he was dazzled by the sight of such a fantastical creature and wanted to touch it. We tried to stop him but it was too late, poor boy. Mercifully he died quickly of his wounds. It wouldn’t do to have him suffer long”.

Sansa gaped at Sam and impatiently brushed at the tears that were forming in her eyes. Jon had been his best friend since they both served with the Watch. And although Sam’s words were kind and reassuring, they were all wrong .

“Who are you talking about?” she gasped.

Sam turned to her, confusion showing in his face.

“Did the guard not tell you?” he asked.

“He said that Jon was alone in the yard with the dragon”, she said as she stared at him intensely. 

Sam’s face changed from puzzlement to horror as the meaning of her words sunk in.

“Oh, no, no, no…”, he sputtered. “Jon’s not dead!”

“Then who is dead and where is Jon?” replied Sansa frantically.

“The man who died was a young wildling who recently fled the Gift. Well, he may have been a man in years but really, inside, he was still a little boy”, explained Sam, tapping the side of his head with his finger. “He was a little tetched”. 

Sansa scanned the yard as Sam rambled on about the poor dead man. Within minutes she saw a head full of dark curls begin to bob up and down, partially obscured by the great beast.

“See, there’s Jon”, said Sam in a relieved tone, pointing as the man stood up.

Jon barked out some orders to a couple of guards who responded uneasily. They approached him with clear trepidation. Jon, his face impassive, stood by the dragon with his right hand stroking its scaly head as the men knelt down and arose seconds later bearing the charred body of the victim.

They removed the body from the yard and took it outside the castle gates, grabbing a lit torch on their way out. Within minutes smoke appeared above the wall as the body was burned to ashes.

Sansa was itching to run to Jon, to run her hands over him, to reassure herself that he was unscathed. Instead, she waited for a signal that it was safe. 

Jon gave the dragon a final pat and let out a whistle. Then he strode across the yard towards her with Ghost trotting at his heels. He gave Sansa a small smile and held out his arms to her. She rushed at him and drove herself into his arms. As he closed them around her she sobbed into his chest.

“I thought you dead”, she cried.

“Hush, my love”, he replied soothingly,”as you can see I am very much alive”.


	4. Chapter 4

Jon pressed kisses into his son’s bright red curls while Sansa surveyed the sky with arms folded. She watched the dragon fly lazy arcs around the perimeter of the castle and then dip suddenly into the Godswood. The dragon reappeared with a small creature in its mouth which was tossed into the air before being blasted with fire and eaten in a single gulp. She turned to Jon with a look of skepticism.

“Can you assure me that our son will not become that creature’s next meal?” she demanded hotly. 

Jon stroked Torrhen’s pink cheek with his thumb.

“It’s not a puppet, Sansa”, he replied with a note of irritation in his voice. “I can’t just pull its strings and have it dance to my tune”.

Sansa glared at him.

“I assure you that the dragon is no longer a threat to us and our people”, he said with a deep sigh and a look of contrition. “The dragon has cleaved unto me and my own so that it will be instrumental to our cause”.

Then he shifted the baby into the crook of one arm so that he could pull her closer.

“We need to continue keeping faith”, he added softly. “Please bear in mind that much of what the priestess saw in the fires has already come to pass”.

Sansa snorted. The red woman, she thought, should have died with Stannis. Instead she lives to fill my husband’s head with foolish notions of prophecy and destiny.

“It cannot stay here. The chickens will not lay and the mothers refuse to allow their children outside when it is near”, said Sansa vehemently.

Jon nodded in agreement.

“There is a suitable cave a few hours ride from here that is linked to the underground stream that feeds the hot springs. Ghost and I will accompany it there this afternoon”, he replied. 

They set out just after midday with Jon riding his favorite grey mare and Ghost kicking up powdery snow as he galloped alongside. The dragon kept in range, flying barely above the treetops in order to keep an eye out for a quick meal. 

By nightfall they still had not returned. As she settled her son to sleep in the nursery for the night, Sansa tried to ignore the feeling of anxiety that was swelling inside of her. Jon is more than capable of defending himself, she reasoned to herself, especially with a dragon and a direwolf at his side.

Sansa retired to her solar to finish some mending but soon grew restless. She stood on the battlement searching for signs of her husband’s return. Her patience was rewarded when a white furry creature burst from among the trees. Ghost had returned so that meant that Jon must be close behind. 

She heard voices beyond the castle walls and the challenge issued by the sentry on duty at the main gate. Voices, thought Sansa… Jon is not alone. Seconds later Jon appeared silhouetted against the moonlit snow, leading a small group of stragglers. Sansa slipped down the steps to greet them as they entered through the gate.

As his horse was led to the stable, Jon turned to Sansa.

“I brought back reinforcements”, he explained gesturing to the bedraggled band of men, women and children. Then he issued orders to his men to take the newcomers to the kitchen for food and drink. As they were led away Sansa grabbed his hand.

“Who are they?” she asked. 

“Refugees from the Gift”, replied Jon grimly. “It is now completely overrun with wights. Many of the free folk have crowded into the fortresses that lined what used to be the Wall. But provisions are low and they will starve to death eventually if the wights don’t kill them first. Others have fled into the mountains or to Last Hearth. And they say it is just a matter of time before an army of wights and their masters descend on Winterfell”.

As the free folk wolfed down the meager supper set out before them, Jon and Sansa circulated amongst them to listen to their stories. Each tale was more horrific than the last and hearing them curdled their stomachs and left a sour taste in their mouths.

As Jon did his rounds before retiring for the night, Sansa issued instructions to have beds made up for the newcomers. Then she bid them goodnight before joining Jon in his solar. Sam was already there with some messages recently arrived via ravens.

‘It’s not good news, Jon”, said Sam in a quavering voice. “An army of wights that grows every day marches south…an army that requires neither sleep nor sustenance. The only thing that could possibly slow it down is a fierce winter storm”.

“Then let us pray for bad weather”, muttered Jon as he stoked the fire in the hearth. 

“We can’t wait any longer, Jon”, Sansa blurted out. “We suspected that one dragon wouldn’t be enough and now it is clear. We don’t have the luxury of waiting for her to decide when to come to us so we are going to have to go to her”. 

Jon nodded and Sam looked at both of them with a look of incredulity on his face. His mouth opened and closed silently before he finally spoke.

“Sansa, what…what are you saying?” Sam stuttered. 

Sansa laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder and looked directly into his eyes so that the meaning of her words would be fully understood.

“Jon is going to ride Viserion across the sea to Meereen where Daenerys Targaryen currently resides as its ruler. And he is going to have to convince her to bring her dragons to the north now or we are all going to die”.


	5. Chapter 5

“Sam thinks we’re mad”, whispered Sansa, her fingers ghosting across Jon’s bare chest. Jon chuckled and pulled her in closer for a kiss.

“Somewhat, no doubt”, he replied. “Starvation and isolation always take their due in the north with the arrival of winter”.

Sansa laid her head on his shoulder as he stroked her hair. 

“What will you say to her?” asked Sansa.

“The truth”, he replied.

“It may take more than unvarnished words to convince her to come to our aid”, said Sansa. She raised herself up and turned to face him. 

“You may have to make a more persuasive argument”, she continued. “Flatter her…remind her that she is the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, not that child who plays at being king. As Aerys’ daughter it is her manifest destiny to complete her journey by taking her place on the Iron Throne. She’ll not achieve it by remaining in Meereen surrounded by her enemies who seethe in resentment and seek her demise. She needs to return home and be the savior of her people who need her and her dragons…now. At this point you can be blunt with her. If she doesn’t stop this invasion of the north then there will be nothing left to inherit. Instead, Westeros will become a desolate land of eternal winter ruled by the dead”.

She brushed aside a lock of his hair and kissed his lips. As she pulled back she gave him a sly smile.

“And if your words fail to persuade her then you could try doing something else with your tongue to win her over”, she said waggling her eyebrows. He gaped at her and blushed.

“She’s my aunt”, he mumbled, looking uncomfortable. “So seduction is not an option”.

“She’s a Targaryen and so are you”, she replied with a mischievous grin.

“Half Targaryen, thank you very much”, he growled as he tugged at the laces of her nightrail. As he eased the fabric from her shoulders he nipped at her collarbone and pressed gentle kisses along her creamy neck. She mewled softly as his lips circled her nipples and he stroked her breasts with his calloused fingers.

“Mmmmm…” he murmured. “I remember when I didn’t have to share these”. 

Sansa giggled and gave him a playful shove.

“It is very unseemly of you to be jealous of your son”, she laughed. She rose up on her knees and tugged the nightrail over her head and tossed it to the floor. She heard Jon’s quick intake of breath. Then he gently pushed her back among the furs.

“You, lovely girl”, he said, his words muffled as he buried his face against the soft skin of her belly, “will clearly be the death of me…never mind wights, white walkers and dragons”. 

Sansa moaned as he left a trail of kisses down her abdomen. Then she held her breath in anticipation as he shouldered her legs apart and parted her curls. He searched for a second or two before grinning broadly when he found that little button of desire. He rubbed it gently in a circular motion before leaning forward to give it a lick. Sansa gasped with pleasure at the sensation. Then Jon slipped his large hands under her buttocks to gain more purchase.

While she bucked and panted, Jon sucked, licked and nipped until she finally peaked in a heady rush of pleasure. And when he finally entered her she was warm, wet and so wanting that she dug her heels into the small of his back, silently urging him to go deeper. He happily complied with his chin nestled in the crook of her neck, maintaining a steady rhythm as he pressed sloppy kisses on her shoulder. And when he felt her begin to come undone again he paused to watch her face flush with satisfaction. Pleased that Sansa lay contentedly underneath him, Jon’s thrusts became more erratic until he found his own release seconds later.

After Jon rolled off her, Sansa shifted closer to him to lay her head on his heaving chest. They lay quietly for a few minutes with their limbs still entwined until Sansa broke the silence to voice one more concern. 

“Promise me you’ll come back”, she pleaded softly, her fingers dancing down his arm. He lifted his head to peer at her with a puzzled look.

“Why wouldn’t I come back?” he replied.

“Even if she refuses to come you will still command Viserion. You could, conceivably, go almost anywhere…anywhere safer than here”, she said with a slight tremor in her voice.

“Hush, sweetheart, we have to believe that she will come. But, no matter what happens, you and Torrhen are the loves of my life…you’re more than I ever expected to have or deserve. I will always come back, Sansa”, he replied with a gentle kiss to her brow.

She reached up and traced a finger along his full lips which were still slick with her cum. Then she slipped the finger into her mouth. It was salty, sweet and a little tart, this essence of her. And as she withdrew her finger from her mouth, she licked it suggestively and then gave Jon a sweet smile.

“Your turn”, she said with a twinkle in her eye as she slid down beside him.


	6. Chapter 6

Sansa watched with amusement while the saddler, clearly ill at ease, fiddled with the straps while Jon maintained a steady hand on one of Viserion’s haunches. When the dragon suddenly snorted smoke and swivelled its head the saddler stumbled backwards a few steps before fleeing to the relative safety of the nearby stable. It’s just as well that it doesn’t need shoes, too, thought Sansa, because the farrier would no doubt be soiling himself at the thought of being so close to the scaly creature.

“It’s a good fit, milord”, shouted the saddler from the doorway. “It should keep you secure for the duration of your journey”.

Jon ran his fingers under the saddle checking for slack and any potential points of irritation. He knew that being thrown from a horse was dangerous but being tossed off a dragon in full flight meant almost certain death. When he was satisfied that the saddle passed inspection, he set his foot in the stirrup and hauled himself up to mount the dragon.

Viserion immediately bucked and reared up while Jon held his grip on the saddle horn. Sansa’s hand flew to her mouth as she stifled a small cry. I mustn’t panic, she thought…I have to believe that Jon knows what he’s doing. But Ghost was having none of it as he charged at Viserion, snapping and bristling with fury. Viserion turned swiftly and let out a loud hiss which had Ghost halting in his tracks and then backing away slowly. Jon leaned forward to stroke and pat the dragon’s brow while Ghost stood motionless, watching intently.

“Ghost…to me”, called out Sansa sharply when she saw the look of appeal in Jon’s eyes. Ghost reluctantly returned to her side. She grabbed his ruff and held on to it tightly with a shaky hand, more for her own sense of security than for Ghost’s protection. 

“I promise we won’t be long”, said Jon, taking hold of the reins. “We will only go as far as the cave and back”.

The dragon took a few steps back and began flapping its wings. Sansa was forced to shield her eyes as snow and dead leaves began to swirl about her. She watched silently as the fearsome beast rose gracefully into the sky with Jon leaning into its neck. It paused briefly to get its bearings before taking flight, heading out beyond the Godswood until it was lost to sight. 

She sighed and let go of Ghost’s fur as she turned to enter the castle. She stopped by the kitchen to check on meal preparations before retiring to her solar to work on the accounts. She concluded that doing something routine and mundane would help alleviate her inner turmoil. As she did her sums, she listened to the hum of people going about their daily activities. It all seems so calm and normal, she mused, and yet my husband rides a dragon and we are under threat by supernatural forces bearing down on us.

Her reflections were interrupted by a rap on the door and a voice requesting permission to enter. It was the nursemaid bearing a restless baby in her arms. He was a welcome distraction for his mother. As Sansa guided Torrhen to her breast, the nursemaid crossed the room to the window.

“There’s a storm sweeping down from the north, milady”, she remarked as she closed the shutters against the waning light. Truer words were never spoken, brooded Sansa. She fervently hoped that Jon would make it back before the snows started to fly.

Sansa insisted that everyone gather in the great hall for the evening meal. We’re all in this together, she reasoned, so we need to be together whenever possible. She sent out food, drink and extra furs to the men on watch as the skies blackened and the winds whipped up the already fallen snow. Then, with Torrhen nestled in her arm, she poured herself another flagon of wine and raised it in a silent toast. Here’s to faith, she saluted, because it gives us the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen. Something, she pondered with amusement, that I am in desperately short supply.

The shouts from the men on watch alerted Sansa to Jon’s return. She turned over the now sleeping baby to the awaiting nursemaid with instructions to put him to bed and made haste to greet her husband. The blizzard had intensified so that Jon had to lower his head against the driving snow as he hurried across the yard. An unencumbered Viserion then took to the sky with a mighty screech to return to its northern lair.

Sansa helped him brush the snow from his hair and cloak as he stamped the snow from his boots. In truth, she wanted to feel him to assure herself that he was well and whole. Jon’s relationship with the dragon played with her emotions. The dragons are surely our salvation, she thought, but I still struggle with my beliefs. 

Wordlessly, she took his face in her hands and kissed his chapped lips. His face was damp but warm, almost feverish, despite the cold, and his eyes glittered. She reached up and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, fearful that he might have taken ill.

“Are you well?” she asked with concern in her voice. 

“Never better”, he replied. “But I must confess that we ventured further than the cave. I needed to reassure myself that we would be effective in battle when the time came so we flew north following the Kingsroad until we found some”.

“Some…what?” asked Sansa. 

“Wights”, he replied, his tone emotionless.

“Are you sure they weren’t just…people?” she responded uneasily.

He stared at Sansa briefly before replying.

“I can tell the difference between the dead and the living, Sansa”, he said. “We flew close enough to confirm it”.

“What did you do with them?” she asked, feeling somewhat foolish.

“We burned them, of course, reduced them to ashes”, he replied in a flat voice.

Sansa noted the use of the pronoun “we”. They have become one, she concluded, a natural outcome of warging. She was accustomed to Jon’s wolf dreams… she still remembered her own from when she had Lady. But she wasn’t sure if she was prepared for a similar relationship with a fire-breathing dragon.

“There weren’t very many”, he continued, “maybe about twenty five to thirty of them. A mere trickle before the onslaught begins”.

“Will you leave for Meereen, soon?” she asked. 

“At first light tomorrow”, he replied. “We cannot delay this any longer”.


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa resented the night, the long awakening darkness that rattled with the cold of the storm that raged around them. She moved closer to Jon, grateful for the heat that radiated from his body. She traced the scars on his back, the small irregular mounds of tissue where arrows had once pierced his flesh, and delicately kissed each one. He shifted and rolled over to face her.

“Can’t sleep?” he whispered as he reached out to brush her cheek with his fingertips.

Sansa shook her head and burrowed closer into his chest. 

“I’m sorry, Jon”, she said, her voice muffled. 

“Why? You have nothing to apologize for, Sansa”, he replied in a surprised tone.

“I should be stronger…you need me to be stronger for the sake of everyone involved”, she cried, her voice breaking with emotion.

“You’re the strongest person I know”, he said, cradling her and stroking her hair. His eyes twinkled when he saw the exasperated expression on her face. 

“You are the only surviving child of Catelyn and Eddard Stark”, he explained patiently. “It was you who rebuilt Winterfell and restored its status as the seat of the north with few resources and little help. And it was you and Sam who conspired to keep me alive after the Wall had fallen and I threatened to succumb to my wounds. And it was you who remained my anchor when I learned the truth of my parentage and believed that life had cast me adrift”. 

“You are the bedrock upon which I have built my life, Sansa”, he continued. “Without you I would still be a sad, bastard boy with few prospects and even less hope for the future”.

He sighed and kissed her forehead.

“I know you have been struggling lately with self-doubt. So you need to know that I have every confidence in you. You have the skills and knowledge necessary to defend your home and your people against any kind of invasion, even the supernatural. Don’t forget that you can rely on Sam for advice and comfort. He has dealt with this enemy before and he is ready and willing to do whatever is necessary. But you are the lady of Winterfell and ultimately any decision will be yours to make”.

She threw her arms around him and kissed him passionately. Their ensuing lovemaking was more heated and urgent than it had been earlier in the evening, each of them acutely aware that this might be the last time they would lie together. 

They awoke just before dawn. While Jon readied Viserion, Sansa packed food, drink and clothing for the long journey ahead. Then she fetched Torrhen from the nursery while Jon issued final instructions to his men.   
They stood together silently with their arms entwined as the snow continued to fall around them. The storm had abated and visibility was better, noted Sansa to her relief. She reached up to brush some of the snow from Jon’s hair. He smiled and leaned in to kiss her and their son goodbye. 

“Stay safe”, whispered Sansa, “and come home as soon as you can”.

“I will”, he replied, “and don’t lose hope and despair. We will return and we will bring help”.

She watched him steadily as he mounted Viserion. I am Sansa Stark, she chanted to herself as if reciting an incantation, and my spine is made of Valerian steel. As Jon and his dragon rose into the early light, she drew her son closer to her chest and hugged him fiercely. We will prevail, she whispered to him as she watched her husband fade from sight, because we are Starks and we have survived whatever life has thrown at us for hundreds of years.

Sansa spent the better part of the day overseeing preparations for a siege that she desperately hoped would never occur. Nevertheless, she knew that hoping that the wights would be diverted or stopped entirely was hopelessly naïve of her. And she stopped being a naïve girl the day she witnessed the horror of her father’s head being severed from his neck.

The evening meal was a somber affair as everyone collectively held his breath in anticipation of what was coming. The watch on duty consisted of many men who were remnants of the former Night’s Watch and they stubbornly clung to the protocol of the blasting a horn three times to indicate the approach of White Walkers and their army of wights. Each man had been issued weapons made of obsidian and instructed to keep a lit torch nearby while on watch. And barrels of boiling pitch were placed strategically along the walls.

The first night passed without incident but the tension still mounted. Uneasily, Sansa ordered a group of three riders to venture out beyond the walls of the castle the next morning to look for signs of the approaching enemy. They were ordered to retreat immediately at the sign of any danger. Fire is their only enemy, she reminded them. They returned without sighting anything unusual. 

Reluctantly, life began to gain some normalcy as the people of Winterfell carried on with their daily tasks. Only the men on watch remained ever vigilant, bristling with nervous energy, spoiling for a fight. Sansa changed the watch frequently so there was less danger of overheated emotions boiling over with the tension.

When the third night passed quietly, there were mutterings that perhaps they had been misled by earlier reports of a massive army descending on them. Perhaps the wights and their masters had retreated north, no longer regarding the people of the Winterfell as a threat. Sam knew better.

“They are watching us, Sansa”, he remarked ominously. “They are waiting for the right moment to strike”.

She nodded silently in agreement. She deferred to Sam’s prior knowledge of the behaviour of the enemy and she doubled the watch as a result.

Sansa stood on the battlement staring moodily into the woods beyond the castle walls. The sun had left the sky and the day had collapsed into a violet glow that signaled the birth of night. She shivered slightly as the increasingly bitter winds tugged at her skirts and hair. She tightened the grip on her cloak. What are they waiting for, she wondered? 

She was startled out of her reverie by three short blasts of a horn.

“It has begun”, she whispered grimly to herself before loudly calling the men to arms.


	8. Chapter 8

Sansa watched in horror and fascination as the wights emerged from the wooded area that bordered the castle. There were men, women and children of many shapes and sizes and all in various stages of decay. Some were missing limbs while others displayed bony appendages where the flesh had receded. The one feature that unified them all was their bright blue eyes that glowed like tiny stars in the gloom of the night. 

“They were once our friends, our neighbours…our kin”, said Sansa to one of her men. “And now they have been resurrected to prey on the living”.

As the men, women and older children of Winterfell mustered along the walls, Sam hastened to lead the very young, elderly and infirm into the maester’s tower for safety. The tower was somewhat isolated from the other towers and corridors of the castle and access was limited. Sansa and Sam reasoned that, if necessary, they could beat a hasty retreat and hold out there until help arrived. They carefully stocked Sam’s quarters with water and provisions that would last, with hope and a prayer, a few days.

Those armed with crossbows dipped their quarrels in the pitch and set them ablaze before unleashing them on the approaching foe while others threw rocks and other debris at the wights attempting to scale the walls. The more nimble of them are making progress, Sansa observed. She thought wistfully of her brother, Bran, and how he would clamber up the walls of Winterfell before Jaime Lannister crippled him. Her mind strayed to her other siblings, dead or lost…perhaps forever. Gone, they’re all gone now.

Sansa shook herself from her daze and turned her attentions once more to the enemy. She noticed that if the rocks struck the wights between the eyes then they were stunned for several minutes, long enough to douse them with pitch and set them on fire. She directed the more keen eyed children, armed with slingshots, to direct their missiles between those beacons of intensely blue light.

She then turned her attention to the front gate. The wights were battering the stout wooden barrier with timber taken from surrounding wooded area. The rhythmic pounding noise rose above the din of the clamour above them. Although all the gates had been reinforced with iron rods, the wights had displayed enough superhuman strength so far that Sansa realized that, with enough force, the gate could fall and then only the portcullis would remain to stop them. 

Some of wights were reaching near the top of the walls before being flung back. Swords were employed to hack off limbs to prevent the wights from ascending further. Sansa ran back and forth along the battlements, redirecting her forces to points where a breach of their defenses appeared imminent. She was exhausted with the effort and but also oddly exhilarated. 

And yet, despite their valiant efforts at pushing the wights back, they continued to lurch and stagger from the surrounding countryside in numbers too numerous to count. Sansa surveyed the scene with dismay. She sent the children back into the castle to seek more objects to use as missiles and more pitch be brought from the cauldrons boiling in the kitchen.

Sam appeared with some of the children, armed with crockery and other objects that could be flung at the enemy. 

“Sansa”, he called out,”it’s time”.

“Are you sure it can be contained to the perimeter of the castle?” she asked. 

“Aye”, Sam confirmed with a nod. His look was shaky but showed as much confidence as Sam could normally muster.

“Inform our best archers then”, she replied.

When Sam had confided in her, after Jon had left, that he was capable of creating wildfire, Sansa responded with disbelief. 

“But I thought…I thought that only the alchemists in Kings Landing possessed such knowledge”, she said.

Sam shook his head.

“There was a disgraced maester in Oldtown who willing to teach surreptitiously some of the more eager acolytes how to make it. I…I have the necessary ingredients. Not a lot, mind you, but it might be enough if we are desperate and all looks lost”, he replied, staring at his feet. 

Sansa knew how dangerous a proposition this was. Wildfire was fickle and unstable, capable of setting the whole castle and all its inhabitants ablaze. The placement of the small jars filled with wildfire would have to be done very carefully and strategically. 

She reluctantly agreed and Sam set about the task of creating wildfire, enough to fill a few pottery jars. The jars were then placed about the castle in caches that were marked with cairns. Ropes were coated with a highly flammable oil and laid from the caches to a point that even the less skilled of archers could fire upon with enough accuracy to set off an explosion.

Sansa’s throat was thick with fear as she watched the archers load their flaming arrows and aim for the thick ropes that lay atop the snow. After several attempts, one of the arrows finally lit up a rope and the fire traveled at a rapid pace towards its destination. 

The sky turned bright green as the ensuing explosion set off a chain reaction, the sparks causing the other caches to blow up. The noise was deafening and the light was blinding. Children sank to their knees and covered their ears and shielded their eyes as they grimaced. The adults were transfixed by the sight of the wights twisting and falling to the cold ground as they were engulfed in the green flames.

Sansa watched and waited for what seemed like hours as the wights and the surrounding wooded area continued to burn. Some of the wights escaped the blaze and continued their assault on the castle. They are relentless because they no longer feel, thought Sansa with fear and admittedly some admiration. But their numbers were severely diminished and Sansa believed that they could fight back until the foe was vanquished. She hesitated to say that they had won but the tide of the battle appeared to have turned in their favour.

When she heard the high-pitched screams Sansa whirled around frantically to locate the source of the cries. 

“Wights!” yelled one of the women running from one of the doorways. Sansa stared in confusion as wights emerged from the doorway and overtook the woman, tearing at her clothes and throwing her to the ground as the woman continued to scream in pain until she was suddenly silent. The wights then turned their attention to the others in the vicinity attempting to flee from their grasp.

Where in seven hells are they coming from, wondered Sansa frantically? She ran along the battlements trying to find the source of the breach but the walls and gates remained firm. And yet wights continued to invade the yard with people fleeing to safety before them.

The crypts! Oh why did I not pay more attention to Old Nan’s stories, thought Sansa, as she stopped momentarily, trying not heave in panic. Sansa had heard the stories of how the hot springs beneath Winterfell were connected by a system of underground streams and caves. Belatedly she realized that her failure to block off and guard the entrance to the crypts may inevitably lead to their deaths before the night was over.

She grabbed one of men nearby.

“Sound the retreat”, she ordered breathlessly.


	9. Chapter 9

Sansa choked back sobs as she witnessed the carnage before her. Men, women and children were dying as the wights pushed through the yard and slaughtered anyone in their path. They bore their way towards the main gate to open it to their compatriots who were banging on it, demanding entrance. Sansa urged her man to sound the retreat once more while she beckoned wildly and shouted.

“Follow me to safety”, she pleaded repeatedly.

To her surprise, nobody heeded her cry. Instead, they continued to fight back with whatever they could find at hand. Sansa looked on helplessly.

“Why do they not retreat to the tower?” she demanded as she turned to the horn blower. “We agreed that we would escape to the maester’s tower until the dragons arrive”.

“No disrespect to Lord Snow, milady”, he replied gazing to the sky, “but I don’t see any dragons coming to save us…do you?”

One of the kitchen maids rushed towards her, dragging her young son behind her, and pushed him into Sansa’s arms.

“Take the children to the tower, milady”, she begged. “We will continue to hold out until we know they are safe”.

Sansa nodded.

“Don’t wait too long to flee”, she replied placing a gentle hand on the woman’s shoulder. The woman gave her grim smile and disappeared into the melee. The boy’s grew big as saucers as he silently watched his mother fade away. Sansa maintained a firm grip on his hand.

“Help me gather up the others”, she whispered, squeezing his hand gently.

They wound through the ranks rounding up the children. Sansa ordered the older ones to go ahead and follow the pre-arranged escape route to the tower where she knew Sam would be waiting to help them up the final leg. Some of the children, especially the older ones, were reluctant to leave their parents, eager to continue fighting for their families. But a promise to follow in due time and a quick shove ultimately convinced them to run to safety.

Sansa and her band of children hurried towards the tower. Sam appeared above them, extending a helping hand as the children scrambled up the wall. Sansa lifted the younger children to Sam’s waiting arms. As she waited to pass the last child to Sam, a girl of about seven years of age, she caught sight of a solitary figure seated on a horse on the hill just beyond the wall. It was a white, wraithlike creature with piercing blue eyes that seemed to glow in the moonlight. Sansa was mesmerized by the apparition.

Sam followed her gaze and frowned.

“He’s one of the Others, Sansa and no doubt there are more nearby. We have to hurry”, he said urgently. 

What has wakened you from your long slumber, wondered Sansa, as she waited for the boy ahead of them to climb up the wall? What compels you to use our dead to attack and destroy us?

Suddenly the child in her arms let out a loud shriek and Sansa felt a bony hand grip her right shoulder. The girl slid to the floor as Sansa writhed and twisted frantically in a futile attempt to escape as the wight hung on tenaciously.

Sansa caught sight of Sam swinging his legs over the side of the wall to rush to Sansa’s aid. Sansa screamed for him to stay with the children as she struggled with the wight.

“Go!” hissed Sansa to the little girl, urging her on.

But she could see by the girl’s narrowed eyes and the pugnacious set of her jaw that she wasn’t going to run away. In one quick motion, the girl scooped up a rock and threw herself at the wight. The tiny ball of fury was enough to render the wight off balance so that it staggered and loosened its grip on Sansa, enough so that with one firm shove she was able to send it to the floor. The girl then threw herself on top of the wight and began to pound the rock between its eyes mercilessly until it was too stunned to move.

“”That’s enough”, said Sansa hoarsely as she stilled the girl’s hand with her own. “We must get away before it awakes”. 

Satisfied that she had won this small skirmish, the girl climbed off the wight and looked at Sansa with a triumphant smile. She reminds me of Arya, thought Sansa, her heart breaking with longing for her lost sister.  
They wasted no time in scaling the wall with Sam waiting to pull them to safety. 

“Well done, lass”, he said as he ruffled the girl’s hair. She grinned broadly at him, proud of her prowess in defending the lady of Winterfell. Sansa held her close and whispered her heartfelt thanks before releasing her to join the others.

As Sansa paused to smooth her skirts she sensed a disturbance in the night air.

She felt them before she could see them. The winds picked up suddenly, shock waves of cold air blasting from the east. Sansa craned her neck eagerly, searching the dark expanse for signs of his return. She was rewarded by the sight of fire streaking across the sky and a shadowy figure descending upon the castle.

“Jon has returned”, she cried, the relief in her voice palpable.

Sam tugged on her arm.

“Come, Sansa”, he said urgently, “we have to move before it’s too late”.

As they hastened towards the tower, Sansa could hear the cries and shouts behind her. With the return of the dragon, many of the adults were now abandoning their positions and deferring to the superior weapon.

Once all the survivors had barricaded themselves in the tower, Sansa stationed Ghost at the door as a first defense. Then she held out her arms to receive her son and buried her face in his curls.

“There are three of them, Sansa”, called out Sam excitedly as he stood watching through the loophole. “Three dragons, three riders”.

Sansa nodded but didn’t reply. Wrung out with exhaustion and pent up emotions, she let the tears flow, humming a sweet tune while she swayed back and forth with her son. She silently gave thanks for her son, for the people of the north and, in particular, the inhabitants of Winterfell and then she offered up a prayer of thanks to all the gods…the old gods, the Seven, the Red God…for bringing her husband home.


	10. Chapter 10

Torrhen screwed up his face and let out a mighty roar. Sansa stopped swaying and leaned down to kiss his forehead tenderly.

“Are you hungry, little man?” she whispered as he squirmed restlessly in her arms. 

“Would you like me to feed him again, milady?” asked the young mother who had been caring for Torrhen in Sansa’s absence. “You must be exhausted”.

Sansa shook her head.

“Right now I think I need him more than he needs me”, she replied, laying a hand on her engorged breasts. 

An old crone who had been dozing in a chair by the hearth struggled to rise to her feet. 

“Here, milady, you must sit down by the fire and rest yourself. You’re no good for the sweet babe nor yourself if you don’t get off your feet”, she said as she gestured to the chair. 

Sansa accepted graciously and nestled into the large armchair. As she unlaced her stays, another woman draped a shawl across her shoulders.

“A lady such as yourself deserves some privacy from prying eyes, milady”, she said arranging the shawl across Sansa’s exposed breasts.

Sansa thanked the women for their assistance and leaned back as Torrhen fed quietly.

The room was quiet as some watched intensely the events unfolding outside while others slumped on the floor, too tired and numb to move. Some of the children nibbled on the food that had been stored in Sam’s quarters while others played hand games to pass the time.

Sansa’s eyes grew heavy as she struggled to stay awake. She tried to keep them focused on Ghost and was rewarded when she saw one of his ears perk up.

“Jon’s coming”, she called out to Sam.

Sam was about to ask how she knew when he saw Ghost rise up on his hind legs, panting and pawing at the door with excitement. 

Seconds later there was a sharp rap on the door and the voice of Jon demanding entrance. 

He looks as tired as I feel, thought Sansa, looking upon her husband’s weary visage as he entered the room. Within a few strides he had crossed the room and knelt by her side, leaning over to kiss her deeply and caress his son’s face. Torrhen gripped his father’s thumb while he continued to suckle his mother’s teat.

Jon was hot, sweaty and reeked of sulphur and yet Sansa had never been so happy to see him.

“Welcome back, my love”, she murmured as she playfully tugged on his curls. “I had almost given up hope”. 

“Don’t ever give up on me, Sansa”, he replied earnestly. The smile faded from her lips as she searched his face. Then she leaned forward and pressed her lips tenderly to his.

“I will always have faith in you, Jon Snow”, she whispered, her voice husky with emotion.

There was a scraping noise as one of the men dragged a chair across the room towards Jon but he waved it aside.

“I can’t stay long. I’ll need a party to sweep the castle for wights and the dead will have to be burned. But first, I need to know how they managed to get inside the walls so repairs can be made quickly,” he said rising to his feet. 

“They came through the crypts, Jon”, answered Sansa, her face colouring with guilt. “They must have followed the underground streams that Old Nan said flow beneath us”.

She stared at the floor and chewed on her lower lip.

“People died because of my failure”, she said, turning away to hide her tears.

Jon placed a hand under Sansa’s chin and turned her stricken face towards his own.

“Who knew that any of Old Nan’s tales were more gospel than fable? I never gave them much credence. And I certainly never heard mention that Winterfell could be accessed through the crypts,” he declared rather loudly.

Liar, thought Sansa. We all knew…we just chose not to believe.

While Sansa finished feeding Torrhen and reluctantly turned him over to the nursemaid, Jon gathered a group of men and women together to tackle the more imminent tasks. The groups separated as they left the tower with Jon and Sansa heading to the yard to assess the damage.

Sansa was shocked to see the number of burned and mutilated bodies that littered the ground. A number of outbuildings smoldered while others verged on caving in. The walls of Winterfell were blackened with soot. Sansa was reminded of the sad state of disrepair Winterfell was in when she returned to the north to reclaim her birthright.

Viserion flew overhead, never straying very far. Jon is not assuming that this is over yet, thought Sansa uneasily.

Sansa scanned the horizon for signs of the other dragons but she could see only the one. 

“Where are they, Jon?” she asked. 

“They flew north and northwest to rout and burn more wights”, he replied as he stooped down to pick up a rock. He passed it from hand to hand before pitching it over the wall with a grunt.

“They intend to return before the darkness comes again”, he added gazing into the sky as the morning sun broke through the gloomy clouds of night. 

“Who is the third rider?” she asked.

Jon hesitated before answering.

“My brother”, he replied with a catch in his throat.

Sansa held her breath for a second. Surely he can’t mean Bran or Rickon…they were no longer his true brothers. But they, along with Robb, would always occupy a special place in his heart. He saw the quizzical look on her face. 

“Aegon Targaryen…my father’s firstborn son”, he explained.


	11. Chapter 11

Sansa looked at Jon in disbelief.

“But Aegon Targaryen is dead, Jon”, she blurted out. “The Mountain killed him when he was but an infant. My father saw his battered and lifeless body himself”.

Jon shook his head.

“A cuckoo in the nest”, he replied. “He was switched with a tanner’s son whose mother had died in childbirth and then he was spirited away to safety”.

Sansa rolled her eyes.

“A likely story…so where is the proof?” she demanded.

Jon shrugged his shoulders.

“Rhaegal accepts him as its rider”, he replied simply. “What more proof do you need?”

Sansa decided to let issue rest for now. I will reserve judgment, she decided, until I meet him for myself.

The morning was spent cleaning up the debris and gathering up the dead. The bodies were laid end to end and side by side in the yard. The men had asked if the wights should be separated from the rest but Sansa refused to allow it.

“They did not choose to be our enemies”, she replied. “They were conscripted into an army of the undead. We will not treat them any differently”.

In accordance with the rituals of the Seven, some of the children scampered about placing small pebbles on the eyes of the dead while the women, as was the custom in the north, sprinkled the bodies with fragrant herbs gathered from the kitchen.

The survivors assembled around the bodies and stood there silently until an elderly wildling woman, leaning heavily on the arm of her good-daughter, spoke a few words in the language of the old tongue. As they listened to her express her sorrow in a tremulous voice, some of the men and women wiped away tears while others stared at the dead with a faraway expression in their eyes.

When the woman finished speaking, Jon took the opportunity to offer a few words of comfort and give his thanks for their bravery despite such overwhelming odds.

Then he raised his arms as a signal for the gathering to back away to the outer reaches of the yard once Viserion began to descend from the firmament. The dragon soared over the yard, its shadow rippling over the congregation. It circled thrice until Jon nodded and the dragon unleashed a long blast of fire to set the mass of bodies ablaze.

They watched the plumes of black smoke rise to lick at the sky. No sacrifices to R’hllor today, reflected Sansa with some relief… we burn only the dead. 

While Jon spent the afternoon supervising the repairs, Sansa slipped out to the one building that she knew was untouched by dragonfire…the sept her father had built for her mother.

Since she had returned to Winterfell she sometimes went to the sept seeking comfort and communion. As she opened the door she smelled the musty air and observed the long threads of dust hanging from the rafters. It has been a long time since my last visit, she mused.

She glanced around the room. It was a very plain design in stark contrast with the more elaborate septs of the south. But she appreciated the warmth and beauty of the wood, the irregular pattern of stonework on the floor and the simple adornments that evoked the north.

She crossed the room to open some of the shutters to let in the bright sunshine and allow the breeze to chase away the cobwebs. She closed her eyes for a spell as she breathed in the cold, crisp air.

She sat on the bench that stood before a long table that served as an altar. She had sat here many a time, offering up prayers for help and guidance. She recalled a happier time long ago attending a service led by a visiting septon. Her mother had warned her unruly brood to be on their best behavior. Sansa and Robb sat on either side of their mother, their backs stiff and their hands folded meekly in their laps. Behind them sat Arya and Bran squirming and shoving each other. It all came to tears when Bran swatted Arya and she retaliated by pushing him to the floor. As his wails filled the room, Arya loudly told him to stop being such a baby and reminded him that he started it. 

Their mother rose in exasperation and hauled Bran to his feet while Arya was ordered to sit at the back of the room. Arya scowled and moved to the rearmost bench, dropping on to it with a huff. While their mother comforted Bran in her lap, Sansa and Robb traded barely suppressed smiles over her bowed head.

Her father and Jon never attended the services at the sept. Her father had sat with her mother sometimes for support, if one of the children was ill or if there was a death in the family, but Sansa wasn’t sure if Jon had ever crossed the its threshold. But then, Jon always knew when he wasn’t welcome where her mother was concerned.

Sansa recalled more recent memories of visiting the sept. She remembered when Jon was returned to Winterfell, gravely injured and close to death. She and Sam spent countless days and nights applying salves to his wounds and bathing him in cool water to help bring down the fever that ravaged his body. And she had prayed fervently to the Stranger to please not take the last known member of her pack.

After the fever finally broke and Jon grew stronger day by day, she found herself visiting the sept more often. She gave thanks for the necessities in life…food, drink, family, companionship. She prayed for the end of war and the coming of spring. And when her feelings for Jon were becoming more than “sisterly”, she prayed long and hard for salvation.

When the news was broken to Jon that the man he had known as his father all his life had lied about the circumstances of his birth he was devastated. It mattered not that it was done to protect Jon from King Robert’s wrath, he felt betrayed, regarding his whole life as a sham. He packed up his few meager possessions, strapped on Longclaw and announced that he was leaving the north forever. He would seek his fortune across the Narrow Sea.

“I need to make a fresh start, Sansa”, he said as he saddled up his horse. “Ghost can remain at Winterfell. The free cities are unsuitable places for direwolves”.

She had been begging him not to go ever since he had announced his intention to leave. In desperation, she screwed up the courage to say the words that she hoped would make him stay.

“Jon, please don’t leave me…I love you”. 

When he remained silent and refused to meet her eyes, she felt her stomach lurch.

He finds me repulsive, she thought with dismay. He wonders how a woman whom he has only ever known as his sister could harbor such feelings.

He fumbled with the straps on the saddle for a minute longer before finally stilling his hands. He turned to her and she could see the emotions warring in his face until he seemed to find some kind of resolution.

He reached out and drew her into his arms. Then he bent down and kissed the corner of her mouth. Chaste, she thought, but so full of promise.

“I’ll stay”, he whispered into her hair.

Sansa visited the sept for the last time that evening, to offer thanks to the Maiden for giving her the audacity to declare herself to Jon.

The sudden banging of the shutters diverted Sansa’s attention. She rose to close them against the fierce gusts of air that knocked over the candlesticks on the altar. As she closed and latched the shutters she heard the loud guttural shrieks that had become more familiar of late.

“The dragons have returned”, she murmured with some amusement. “It’s time to meet the rest of the family”.


	12. Chapter 12

She’s so tiny, thought Sansa as she curtsied before the diminutive queen; she looks like a little girl. Sansa felt awkward and ungainly as she towered over the Targaryen woman. 

“I am pleased to finally meet my nephew’s lovely wife, the last living child of Ned and Catelyn Stark”, Daenerys said coolly as she extended a hand to Sansa. 

Sansa flushed at the inference as she took Daenerys’ hand. She still held out hope that not all her siblings were dead but it obviously brought Daenerys some satisfaction believing it to be true. There was no doubt in Daenerys’ mind that Ned Stark was a traitor to the Crown and that all his progeny should be cursed.

A young man who could have been Daenerys’ twin sidled up beside her. This must be Aegon, concluded Sansa, or the man claiming to be him. At least he looks like a Targaryen, unlike Jon.

They both possessed the pale skin and violet eyes of the Targaryens. They also had silvery hair which Daenerys wore in a complicated weave of braids while Aegon’s hair was silver at the crown and blue at the tips.

He has had to disguise his appearance, deduced Sansa, before finally declaring himself.

It brought back memories of when she finally left the Eyrie to return to the north, with her hair red at the roots and brown at the tips.

I, too, was two sides of the same coin, she recalled. As Sansa Stark I was the trueborn daughter of the noble, moral and upright Ned Stark. As Alayne Stone, I was the bastard daughter of the immoral, corrupt and murderous Petyr Baelish. And I learned that I had to be both to survive.

The young man extended his hand and introduced himself to Sansa.

“I am so happy to meet such a lovely member of my ever growing family”, he said smoothly as he kissed Sansa’s hand.

At least he is charming, thought Sansa with pleasure. He will be a nice change from the blunt northerners.

Daenerys linked arms with Sansa as they walked towards the castle with Jon and Aegon bringing up the rear.

“You and I have much to discuss later after some food, drink and rest”, said Daenerys.

Me, thought Sansa anxiously, what does the woman want with me? She glanced back at Jon but he was deep in conversation with Aegon.

“But first…where is the little dragon that Jon has told me of?” demanded Daenerys. “I want to meet your son”.

Sansa led Daenerys up to the nursery to visit with Torrhen.

“He is blessed with your clear blue eyes and your fiery hair”, remarked Daenerys as she cradled him in her arms. “He is a bonny babe, to be sure”.

Sansa was gratified to watch Daenerys coo and sway with Torrhen in her arms. Let her bond with him, thought Sansa, so that she can see the value of family and not feel threatened by their existence. Sansa knew well the paranoia that can threaten to overtake those in power when they mistrust the motivations of others.

During the evening repast, the inhabitants of Winterfell laughed and joked as they raised their flagons of wine in tribute to the dragons. Daenerys smiled serenely at their japes but dismissed their accolades with a wave of her hand. Then she rose to her feet to address them.

“People of Winterfell, the war is not over yet”, she warned them. “This was merely the first of many encounters”.

“As we speak”, she continued, “my army of 8,000 Unsullied, led by their leader, Greyworm and accompanied by my small council, sails across the Narrow Sea to White Harbour. Once they reach these shores, they will march northwest to engage the enemy and, mark my words, we will defeat them”.

“You have my pledge, people of Winterfell, that we will not rest until we have burned all the wights and the Others have retreated to their icy wasteland, never to return and plague the people of the north again. This, I am confident, is our destiny”, she concluded to the stomping of feet and hollers of approval.

Daenerys gestured to Jon and Aegon to join her. They pushed back their chairs and rose up to stand on either side of her. She turned to each of them with a brilliant smile and then raised their arms in a gesture of triumph amidst the chants and cheers.

Daenerys is selling them as some kind of holy trinity, noted Sansa. Or maybe she really does believe that the three of them are destined to be the saviours of the north and possibly all of Westeros. She had better be right.

As the great hall emptied, Daenerys grabbed Sansa’s hand as she and Jon prepared to leave.

“We need to speak in confidence. Perhaps we can meet in your solar?” she asked.

Sansa looked at Jon. He nodded and offered to take Aegon on a tour to review their defenses.

As they entered Sansa’s solar, Daenerys helped herself to a flagon of wine and offered to pour Sansa one, too. Sansa politely refused.

I need to keep my wits about me with this one, she thought nervously.

They sat down by the hearth.

“What do we need to discuss, your Grace?” began Sansa, her fingers twisting in her lap.

“As I said earlier, my army of Unsullied will soon arrive, ready to engage in this ongoing battle. And when we have defeated the Others and their army, I will redirect my forces south. I intend to take back my father’s throne. But an army of 8,000 men, albeit well-trained and fearless, will not be enough to take back all of Westeros, even with the support of dragons. And especially if you factor in any losses during the upcoming campaign and the one to come”, replied Daenerys.

Daenerys leaned forward.

“Jon has promised to deliver to me the might of the north in return for driving back the Others. And I know the north has always supported the Starks and will rally to their cause if the banners are called”, she continued.

Sansa blinked.

“But”, she replied, “Jon is not a Stark. And although they respect him, the northern lords know that he is not the son of Ned Stark. You might not receive the support you need”.

“Not Jon”, Daenerys replied in a tone normally used for a young child, “you. You will call the banners as Ned Stark’s daughter and the lady of Winterfell. And you will convince them to join my cause”.


	13. Chapter 13

“Did you promise that woman a northern army at her back when she begins her march on the iron throne?” demanded Sansa angrily.

Jon raised his eyes towards the ceiling.

“And don’t try to lie to me, Jon Snow”, she fumed, “because I will know if you are”.

She could see his jaw muscles working before he finally answered her.

“Yes”, he replied.

“And you didn’t think it necessary to tell me?” she asked between gritted teeth.

“I was waiting for the right time and place but she got to you first", he answered.

“Tell me what happened”, she said with a sigh as she sat down.

Jon sat down next to her and took her hand.

“She would not come, Sansa”, he explained. “I offered all your arguments and a few of my own. And she just sat there looking bored and disdainful. I was desperate and she knew it. And so I offered her the one thing I knew would pique her interest…an army of war-hardened northerners to support her in her cause”.

Sansa stared back at her husband and lamented his lack of guile.

“She played you”, she conceded.

Jon nodded. 

“Well, let’s make sure she fulfills her part of the bargain first”, she asserted vehemently.

The next morning, Daenerys announced that she and Aegon would remain in Winterfell for a fortnight before relocating to White Harbour as guests of Lord Manderly. There they planned on purchasing provisions and equipment in preparation for the arrival of Daenerys’ army.

The sooner they leave the better, muttered Sansa under her breath.

Over the next couple of days, Daenerys, Aegon and sometimes Jon convened in the library to pore over maps to determine their next course of action. Meanwhile, Sam was run ragged as news of the dragons spread and the ravens began to arrive in larger numbers bearing messages of sightings of wights and the Others from all over the north. By the end of the second day Sam had worn a shiny path between his quarters and the library.

A sharp rap and her door cautiously opening awoke Sansa shortly after midnight.

“I’m sorry to wake you, milady”, called out the nursemaid in an urgent voice, “but the maester told me to fetch you. The babe is poorly”.

Sansa threw back the furs and reached for her dressing gown. She and the nursemaid hurried down the corridor to the nursery. As she neared the room she could hear the plaintive cries of her son.

Sam stood by the cradle holding Torrhen who was red-faced and clinging to Sam’s nightshirt. Sansa reached out her arms to take hold of the fussy child.

He was hot…so very, very hot. She looked at Sam anxiously.

“When did it start?” she asked.

“A couple of hours ago”, replied Sam. “We tried bathing him and I gave him a wet cloth to suck on but he needs his mother’s milk before the fever consumes him”.

Sansa nodded as she lowered herself into the chair. She rubbed Torrhen’s back in a soothing manner to get him to calm down so he could feed properly. He banged his face against her chest, his lips parted and his eyes half-closed. 

As she guided him to her breast, she posed the question she had been dreading to ask.

“Any sign of…pox?”

Sam shook his head.

Sansa felt some relief although admittedly it could be early yet. Torrhen fussed in between drawing milk before abruptly pulling away to vomit up his feed. She placed him against her shoulder to pat his back gently while the nursemaid tried to clean up the mess as best she could. 

For the next couple of hours they continued to try to coax Torrhen to feed while Ghost paced uneasily as if he was an expectant father. In between, they bathed him in cool water while he cried piteously and grew more listless.

“Sansa, we should fetch Jon”, implored Sam.

Not yet, not yet, not yet, screamed Sansa internally. Sending for Jon would be admitting that our son is dying and I am not ready to give him over to the Stranger yet. She shook her head.

“No”, she gasped, “let’s give it more time”.

Sam looked at her doubtfully.

“I could try giving him some watered down milk of the poppy. If we can bring down the fever enough for him to take some milk we might be able to turn him around”.

Normally Sam would not recommend such a powerful medication for one so young. But hope for a recovery was growing faint. 

Sansa gave her permission and Sam administered a tincture of the medication through a small dropper. And then they waited.

She bathed him once more. Sansa blew gently on his skin causing tiny goosebumps to rise on his little chest and arms. She stroked his damp curls and kissed his forehead. She could swear that it felt cooler and placed the back of her hand against it. Torrhen turned his head restlessly before opening his blue eyes and smiling at her. Her own eyes misted in return.

“Sam, come quick”, she called out, “tell me if you think his fever has abated”.

Sam examined Torrhen and then nodded. 

“Try feeding him again, Sansa”.

She carried him over to the chair and encouraged him to latch on one more time. He screwed up his face and turned away so she stroked his cheek softly.

“Please, sweetling”, she whispered, “please don’t give up”.

He turned back to his mother’s teat and took it in his mouth. He sucked slowly and hesitantly as if summoning up the strength to continue. Sansa kept her eyes locked on him for fear that if she looked away he would stop.

After a few minutes he began to suck more rapidly, more efficiently. Sansa finally leaned back against the chair, bleary-eyed and exhausted. She hummed an old nursery song while Torrhen kept hold of her gown in his tiny fist. 

The milk stayed down and after another bath Sam was satisfied that the worst was over.

“Get some rest, Sansa”, he begged, “I’ll send for you if there is any change and when he is ready for another feed”.

Sansa dragged herself from the nursery to return to her chambers. As she approached the rooms where Daenerys was quartered she saw the door opening slowly, its rusty hinges groaning. Sansa heard low voices speaking indistinctly, although it was clearly those of a man and woman. Sansa withdrew around the corner and lay in wait. A man emerged from Daenerys’ room, his clothes in disarray and his hair in need of combing. He disappeared behind the door for a few seconds longer before re-emerging to head down the corridor, away from Sansa. Sansa waited a couple of beats after the door closed before heading towards her own rooms.

Well, wondered Sansa as she entered her bedchamber, how did I miss that earlier?


	14. Chapter 14

The dream came unbidden but not unanticipated. She saw the flecks of foam gathering at the corners of Joffrey’s malignant mouth as he sentenced her father to die. She saw the shocked expression on Cersei’s face and the panic and dismay on Varys’ as he rushed towards Joffrey with his arms waving frantically. But Joffrey waved him away with a flick of his hand.

Sansa found herself rooted in place, mute and helpless. But she could see and hear everything. She heard Joffrey summon Ilyn Payne to carry out the king’s justice. She saw the executioner raise Ice, her father’s own sword, glinting in the harsh sunlight, high above his head before lowering it in one smooth, swift motion. She listened to the sound of the great sword cutting through flesh and bone. And she watched as her father’s head tumbled from his neck and his body went limp.

Forgive me, Father.

She looked down in horror at the skirt of her pretty gown and saw that it was splattered with his blood.

Forgive me, Father.

She tried to scream in anguish but no sound escaped her lips.

Forgive me, Father.

Her heart was beating so hard that it felt like it was trying to escape from her chest. The pain was so burning hot she could scarcely breathe.

She sat bolt upright in her bed, gasping for air. She heard a rap at the door.

“Pardon me, milady, but the maester is asking for you to return to the nursery”, said the maid from the other side of the door. “But if you are indisposed I can certainly fetch one of the other mothers”.

“No”, replied Sansa rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she grabbed her dressing gown. “I’m coming”.

She hesitated for a minute to compose her face and smooth back her hair before hurrying down the corridor.

She faltered in her steps as she entered the room when she saw Jon standing there with Torrhen cradled in his arms. One look at Sam’s open face told her all she needed to know. Sam was always loyal to Jon first.

She reached out to take her son from his father’s arms and sat down in her customary chair. Jon sat down opposite them, leaning forward with his arms resting on his thighs, his look a mixture of anger and sorrow. She was shamefaced and reluctant to meet his gaze until he spoke.

“When were you going to tell me that our son was possibly dying…or were you going to inform me after he passed?” he asked.

Sansa was shocked at the cold fury in his voice. Jon had never spoken to her like this before.

“Jon”, she whispered as she plucked nervously at Torrhen’s furs. “It wasn’t like that. I would never shut you out of our son’s life. I…I can’t explain my actions because I don’t fully understand them myself. Call it superstition, call it blind faith, call it what you will but I assure you that it will never happen again”.

She reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Forgive me?” she asked, searching his face for absolution.

He was silent as he withdrew his hand and stood up. Then he bent down and kissed her forehead, lifting the strands of her hair that fell loosely around her shoulders and letting them cascade through his fingers. Then he crouched down and kissed his son’s feverish brow.

“Of course I forgive you”, he replied, his voice breaking.

She smiled gratefully and then started to titter uncontrollably. Jon looked on her with concern as her hand flew to her mouth to smother her giggles. She desperately tried to adopt a more serious mien.

“Dear gods, Jon”, Sansa hiccupped, “I think I may be going mad”.

“It’s no wonder…the stress you’ve been under would have crushed a lesser being”, he smiled in sympathy. “But you’ll be relieved to know that Daenerys and Aegon are planning on leaving for White Harbour tomorrow. We received the raven early this morning that their armies are close to coming ashore.

Sansa exhaled slowly. This was indeed good news for now.

“I’ll stay with him once you are done feeding him”, urged Jon. “Go get some more rest and I’ll send a maid to fetch you if anything changes”.

Sansa nodded in relief. She knew Jon was as good as his word.

As she dragged her weary body back to her rooms, she made an impromptu decision.

“A word, your Grace”, requested Sansa after she had been admitted to Daenerys’ solar.

“In private”, she added as she glanced at the maid who was adding more wood to the fire in the hearth. Daenerys drew her furs closer and nodded at the maid. The maid curtseyed quickly and left the room silently, closing the door behind her.

Daenerys gestured to Sansa to take a seat near the fire and then pulled up a chair to join her. Sansa opened the conversation without preamble.

“I was in the corridor early this morning when I spied Aegon leaving your quarters”, she stated bluntly.

Daenerys’ lips twisted in amusement.

“Well, I knew there was somebody watching but I just assumed it was one of the servants”, she replied coolly.

“What are your intentions regarding him?” asked Sansa with all seriousness.

Daenerys uttered a high, brittle laugh.

“What are you…my mother?” she replied, her lips curling with disdain. She leaned forward.

“Maybe I was lonely”, she purred.

“I highly doubt that, your Grace”, countered Sansa boldly. “If he’s Rhaegar’s son then his claim to the Iron Throne is better than yours. So, I ask you again…what’s your endgame?”

Daenerys sat back and blinked rapidly. Then she slowly smiled, showing all her pretty white teeth.

“Shall I tell you the truth about Aegon Targaryen?” she whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “He is no more Rhaegar’s son than you are”.

Sansa’s face must have registered some surprise as Daenerys adopted an air of smugness as she continued.

“Oh, there is no doubt that he has Targaryen blood…otherwise he would be unable to ride a dragon. But he has no legitimate claim to the throne”, she added.

“Then why support his claim that he is Rhaegar’s son?” asked Sansa. “Why not expose him as a fraud?”

“Because he has the support of several powerful and wealthy people who choose to believe that he is Rhaegar’s son”, Daenerys replied,” and I need their help and the loyalty of the Golden Company. So I choose to keep him close to me…as close as possible”.

The truth dawned on Sansa.

“He’s a Blackfyre”, she murmured. Daenerys nodded in confirmation.

“Does Jon know?” asked Sansa warily.

Daenerys shook her head.

“I don’t think so. Jon is so keen to believe that he has a living, breathing brother that he is willing to accept it as gospel…at least for now”, she replied.

“And what if Aegon decides to take the throne?” asked Sansa.

Daenerys gave her a dark look.

“Fate has a way of dealing with pretenders, Sansa”, she answered ominously.

Sansa struggled not to look shocked.

“I have made a number of mistakes in my journey to take back what is mine”, continued Daenerys, “and I have learned from each and every one. The naysayers dismissed me at first. I was just a little girl, they laughed, who couldn’t possibly have the authority and gravitas to command an army and rule a kingdom. And, yet here I am with an army at my back and dragons under my control, so close to my goal that I can almost smell the stench of Kings Landing from here. I will not let a small matter such as a boy who was born on the wrong side of the blanket prevent me from getting there”.

“And what of Jon?” asked Sansa fearfully.

“Jon is still a bastard, no matter who is father is”, Daenerys snapped. “Any legitimacy he enjoys is due to his marriage to you. Besides, he has no interest in ruling Westeros. But, after the northern campaign is over he has pledged to continue south while in command of the northern forces. I need reliable commanders and there is nobody more loyal than Jon”.

“And when you have secured the throne…what of him then?” Sansa asked with trepidation. Will this demanding and exacting woman expect him to stay in the capital and help her rule?

I can’t ever return to the south, thought Sansa frantically. If I do I will wither and die.

Daenerys’ face softened as she watched Sansa’s face churn with emotion.

“Jon told me what the usurper did to you. He made me promise not to expect him to remain in the south once the seven kingdoms have been secured. I will release him when the time comes and instruct him to return home to his wife and son. And I might let him keep Viserion”.

There must be a catch, worried Sansa, with monarchs there is always a catch.

“To do what exactly?” she asked meekly.

Daenerys flashed a brilliant smile.

“I expect him to rule the north for me”, she replied with a flourish of her hand.


	15. Chapter 15

Jon’s boot hit the floor with a thud. As he was peeling off his shirt to reveal to reveal his lean, muscled torso, Sansa turned to the young maid who stood nearby, waiting to scoop up the soiled clothing as it was discarded. She was behaving just a little too attentively for Sansa’s liking.

“Thank you, Dora”, she said sharply, “that will be all for now. You can collect Lord Snow’s clothing in the morning”.

Dora curtseyed and moved towards the door. But not before Sansa observed the girl giving Jon an appreciative sidelong glance as he began to unlace his breeches.

She’s a bold one, thought Sansa. It’s just as well that Jon pays no heed to the interest he engenders in much of the female population of Winterfell.

She shook her head and poured the lavender oil into the hot, steaming water just as Jon slid into the tub. He leaned back and closed his eyes as Sansa lathered up her hands with the bar of soap. She knelt down and began working her fingers through his hair as he relaxed languidly with his arms resting on the edges of the tub.

She instructed him to lean forward while she poured a basin of water over his head to rinse out the soap and then applied the oil to the palms of her hands. She worked her fingers through his hair once more in an effort to tame his tangle of curls and then slid her oily fingers along his neck and powerful shoulders to massage his aching muscles. He groaned in appreciation.

She kissed the back of his neck before rising to remove her dressing gown, leaving her naked. Then she stepped gingerly into the tub to join him.

“You smell so much better now”, she purred as she slid her hands across his chest. She could feel the laughter bubbling inside him.

“Are you going to make me bathe each and every time I return after riding Viserion?” he enquired as he caressed her cheek.

She smiled coquettishly and turned on her back so that she rested along his body with her head on his shoulder.

“Only when I invite you into my bed”, she replied with a sigh. He chuckled and nuzzled her neck. Then he reached down to tease her pink nipples and stroke her inner thigh. She could feel him growing hard against her lower back as she spread her legs to give him access.

“We won’t make it to the bed if you continue your wanton ways in the water”, he growled into her ear.

“I don’t care”, she replied dreamily as he move his hand up and found her clit. He circled it with just enough pressure to elicit noises of pleasure from Sansa. He gently bit and soothed her neck while stroking her nipples until she moaned and cried out when she reached her peak.

The water swished as she turned in the bath once more to reach between his legs, to touch and rub the spots that always wrung the loudest groans from him. She nipped and sucked as she worked her way across his chest. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily while her fingers relentlessly stroked his length and downwards.

When she felt he was close to his limit she mounted him, mewling softly as he entered her. He buried his face between her breasts as she leaned forward to take him fully. Then, with the water churning around them, she began to ride him. He matched her rhythm and soon they were moving and breathing as one. Within minutes he was spilling inside of her as they shuddered together.

They sat entwined until Sansa finally dismounted and rose up. She climbed out of the tub with Jon following her, sending droplets to the stone floor. She stood and shivered in the cooler air until Jon wrapped the flannel sheet around them both. Then they dried each other off before the crackling fire burning in the hearth.

He poured wine for both of them before they clambered on to the bed and covered themselves with the furs.

Sansa took a sip and then leaned back against the pillows.

“Sam says that Torrhen is much improved. His eyes are brighter and his colour is better. This evening he fed like one possessed and he didn’t heave up any milk, not one little drop”, she reported with satisfaction.

Jon took her hand and kissed her fingertips.

“That’s the best news I have had all day”, he murmured.

“Nevertheless, Sam says he will still spend tonight in the nursery just in case Torrhen takes a turn for the worse”, she added.

Sansa turned on her side, her arm propping up her head.

“And you…” she asked. “Were you successful today?”

“Aye”, he replied. “With Viserion’s keener eyesight they are becoming easier to spot. We usually find them in clusters in isolated areas where people have died alone and unmourned with nobody left to burn the bodies”.

“When will you be leaving to join Daenerys and Aegon?” she asked anxiously.

He reached out to touch her face and smooth her hair.

“Likely within a week…they intend to fan out west along the border where the wall once stood, concentrating their efforts near the remains of Eastwatch and Castle Black. Once I reach them I will take a portion of their troops southwards towards Winterfell to shore up our defenses”.

Sansa’s heart soared at this news.

“So you’ll not stay with them the whole time?” she asked eagerly.

Jon shook his head.

“I will split my time between them and Winterfell, and parts in between. I can’t risk leaving our home unprotected by dragon fire for long… I have too much to lose, sweetheart”, he replied.

She hesitated before broaching the next subject.

“I had an interesting conversation with Daenerys before she left”, she began.

His turned to her showing some interest.

“She said that you promised to lead the northern forces south to aid her in her drive for the throne”, she continued. She swallowed. “In return, she pledged to let you rule the north for her”.

Jon snorted, laughed and shook his head.

“I wouldn’t put much faith in what Daenerys tells you, Sansa”, he explained.

“Why not?” she asked indignantly.

Jon looked at her indulgently.

“Because”, he replied softly, “she is quite mad”.


	16. Chapter 16

“Hear me out, Sansa”, pleaded Jon when he saw the look of skepticism registered on her face. “I’m not the only one to come to that conclusion”.

Sansa gave him a questioning look.

“Ser Barristan Selmy”, he replied. Sansa was surprised.

“How…?” she began.

“When Joffrey dismissed him from the Kingsguard, he joined Daenerys in Astapor and proclaimed his loyalty to her to make amends for not protecting her family”, he replied.

“When I arrived in Meereen, she was besieged on all sides,” he continued. “and her reign teetered on the edge of disaster. The Sons of the Harpy were waging a shadow war with her in retaliation for shutting off the slave trade and closing the fighting pits. The Bloody Flux was spreading unchecked throughout the populace of refugees who had flooded into the area from Astapor. And although the gates had been barred to them in order to halt the spread of disease, it was just a matter of time until it oozed its way into the city. Selmy said that she had made concessions to appease her detractors but to no avail. She refused to bow to their demands so they struck harder and faster, ruthlessly killing her allies with stealth and precision. She retaliated with mass arrests, show trials and hasty executions with her dragons serving as the executioners. Selmy said that he urged her to exercise compassion and be more judicious but she was determined to turn their deaths into a cautionary tale to others.”

“None of what you have told me so far suggest that they are the actions of a madwoman”, she argued.

“When the executions did not have the desired effect”, he replied,“ her paranoia deepened and she became, at times, incoherent and delusional. She claimed to see her dead enemies lurking in the shadows. The guards were diligent about seeking them out but they were never found. Finally, she withdrew to her quarters in the Great Pyramid, admitting only her most trusted advisors. I might have been refused entrance if it weren’t for the fact that I arrived on her missing dragon”.

“Stress and guilt can play tricks on the mind, Jon. Perhaps she will recover now that she has removed herself from Meereen”, suggested Sansa. Gods help me, she thought, why am I defending this woman?

“I know…and I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt except for Selmy’s final words of warning the night before we left”, he responded. “He said it was the look on her face when she watched those men burn that convinced him that something was seriously wrong. Because, he had witnessed that same look of ecstasy on her father’s face when he roasted your grandfather alive and arranged to have your uncle to strangle himself trying to save him”.

Sansa blanched. The horror of their deaths had haunted her father for the remainder of his days.

“Is he sure?” she whispered.

Jon nodded. 

“She is obsessed with destroying her enemies. She babbles on about righting the wrongs that her family has suffered and seeking retribution”, he replied staring at the hearth. The fire had died down until only the glowing embers remained.

She shivered and pulled the furs closer. The warmth seemed to have fled the room.

“I’ll add more wood to the fire”, announced Jon as he slid off the bed. He donned his robe before padding across the room to pile on more logs.

As Jon stoked the fire, Sansa watched the sparks float above the flames, the light casting his face into shades of burnished red and gold.

We may have handed the keys to the kingdom to a madwoman who would sooner burn it down, she realized.

Jon returned to the bed once he was satisfied that the fire had caught and was steadily burning. She could tell by the expression on his face that he had arrived at a decision.

“Although she didn’t expressly ask me, I will lead the northern forces south”, he said, “but not with the intention of supporting her bid for the throne. I will support my brother’s claim instead”.

Sansa gaped at him. 

“She will be furious”, she warned. “Who knows how far she may go in retaliation. Please, Jon…don’t renege on our bargain. We need her and her dragons to rid ourselves of the Others”.

Jon shook his head.

“She won’t know until it is too late”, he replied.

“Jon, don’t underestimate her”, she begged. “She is cunning, charismatic and ruthless”.

He reached out and took her hands.

“I am capable of playing the game, Sansa”, he argued. “I did it successfully while I was north of the Wall”.

“Yes”, she hissed, “but you also had her to protect and vouch for you”.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth she instantly regretted them. Jon’s face grew dark with anger. Although mention of Jon’s wildling wife was never expressly forbidden, it was understood.

She had first heard her name when Jon had been racked with fever after being brought back to Winterfell. He called out her name frequently with such yearning and regret that Sansa’s curiosity was piqued. When she asked Sam who Ygritte was he grew red and flustered. He mumbled his apologies but couldn’t tell her about the woman out of respect for Jon. But Sansa persisted with Sam holding his ground until she got him drunk one evening on strong Dornish wine.

As Sam confessed the whole story from beginning to end, Sansa was rapt with attention. She smiled when she learned how Jon had inadvertently taken a wife when he set the woman free out of compassion. That was so like Jon, she thought. And she had to admit that she felt a little jealous when Sam described their growing affection and subsequent love for each other until Jon’s betrayal ended the relationship. And finally she saddened when she learned how Ygritte had died in his arms after the battle for Castle Black, with Jon trying to convince himself that it wasn’t his arrow that had fatally wounded her.

“I’m so sorry”, she said with contrition. “That was uncalled for. But I said it out of love and concern”.

“I know”, he replied quietly. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“It’s a dangerous game but I’m up to the challenge. I’ve spent enough time in her company now that I know how to handle her and I know she trusts me”, he continued.

“But she doesn’t trust Aegon”, she cautioned. “In fact, she is convinced that he is not your brother at all…that he’s a Blackfyre”. 

Jon looked unsurprised.

“You knew?” she asked with astonishment.

“I suspected”, he replied. “I asked Sam to make a few discreet inquiries”.

“Then how can you support his claim to the throne as Rhaegar’s trueborn son?” she demanded.

“Because regardless of his bastard bloodline, Aegon has been groomed to rule Westeros”, he retorted hotly. “Jon Connington raised him to believe that he is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen. He has been carefully schooled and I, and many others, believe that he will be a fair and just ruler, better than anybody else vying for the crown”.

“Besides”, he continued. “I have pledged him my support in return for an important concession”.

“What is it?” she asked anxiously. 

”Full autonomy for the north, Sansa”, he replied, “with you as its queen”.


	17. Chapter 17

Viserion snorted black puffs of smoke from its oversized nostrils and clawed at the ground impatiently as if sensing the impending reunion with its siblings. At the same time, Ghost circled Jon and Sansa anxiously as they stood silently entwined, bumping up against them and nipping at their cloaks.

Sansa laughed as Jon leaned over to grab Ghost and command him to keep still. 

“Be kind, Jon”, she said as she patted the direwolf’s head, “he knows you’re breaking up his pack again”.

“It’s only temporary”, he replied, “I’ll be back before you have had time to miss me”.

“That’s impossible”, she whispered, “because I miss you already”.

She clung to his shoulders as he leaned down to press his lips against hers. Then she reached up to pull his head closer to deepen and prolong the kiss as long as possible.

As they parted she could hear faint wails coming from inside the castle walls. Torrhen was awake and crying for his mother. Jon gave her a quick kiss before turning to the waiting dragon.

“I believe it is time for both of us to go”, he said as he mounted the scaly creature. “Give Torrhen one more kiss from me”. She nodded as she fought back the tears. She held on to his hand until the last possible second and then watched as man and beast rose into the pre-dawn light and faded from view.

As she returned to the castle, she replayed an earlier conversation in her mind. 

She had stared into Jon’s eyes seeking confirmation of his words.

“And…you would be king, of course”, she countered, nodding her head slightly.

Jon shook his head and then leaned back against the pillows.

“No”, he replied, “I can be your consort, your Hand, your knight in shining armour, even your plaything if that is what you prefer but I will not be king of the north”.

“But my brother…”, she began.

“I know”, he interrupted, “but that was only because he feared having Winterfell falling under control of the Lannisters”.

She understood Jon’s refusal to be legitimized by her brother’s decree. He had no wish to take Winterfell away from her no matter how odious her husband’s family.

“The truth of my parentage confirmed what I already knew, Sansa, and that is who births you is important but who sires you is more important”, he said firmly.

“The northerners have long memories. And even though I was raised as a child of the north with the blood of the First Men flowing through my veins, what matters now is that I am descended from the people who conquered the north...who made the northerners bow down and pledge fealty to the invaders from the south under the threat of dragon fire”, he continued. “If I can force the Others to return from whence they came then the north might accept me as their king out of gratitude, grudging respect and a healthy fear of dragons. But, if you were to become queen then I believe that the northern lords would happily flock to you to pledge their loyalty. Northerners are a fierce and proud people who have always regarded the Starks as their natural leaders. Therefore, you, as Ned Stark’s living legacy, are the natural choice to rule the northern kingdom as its queen”.

Queen, thought Sansa with a sigh…it’s what I craved as a child but I’m not sure that is what I want now.

Sansa returned to her duties as the Lady of Winterfell, overseeing the running of the daily activities, mediating disputes and organizing the watch. In between tasks she often walked the battlements with Torrhen cradled in her arms, scanning the skies and peering into the woods for signs of movement.

“I have become the watcher on the wall”, she chortled under her breath.

Torrhen was now almost completely recovered, much to her relief. She enjoyed taking him outside into the crisp, cold air, especially on sunny days so that he could feel what little warmth the weakened sun could provide.

She badgered Sam on a daily basis for news of Jon and the battle for the north. But, so far, there was nothing to report. She had hoped he would have returned by now but that hope had now faded. There was nothing but silence.

Sansa often spent a couple of hours in the afternoons sewing, accompanied by a few other women who attended her. They usually spoke quietly of mundane matters as they manipulated the needle and thread. They never spoke of the menace that lurked beyond the walls. 

The knock at the door was both loud and sharp. One of the women rose to open it to reveal an agitated Sam.

“We have had a raven”, he announced. He was panting and holding a crumpled note to his chest. He must have sprinted from his quarters, realized Sansa with a frown.

She dismissed the other women with a nod of her head. When the last of the women closed the door behind her, Sansa turned to Sam with her hand held out to receive the letter.

She read through the lengthy note quickly and then sank to her chair. She scrubbed her face and held the letter loosely in her grasp. 

“I assume you have already read it?” she asked Sam wearily.

Sam nodded with his eyes full of concern.

“So what are we to do?” she asked.

“We have to abide by his decision, Sansa. Otherwise we might all face a death worse than being felled by a wight”, he replied.


	18. Chapter 18

She listened to the wind howling outside her window, sounding like a wolf calling frantically to its mate. It had been snowing for three days straight and there was no sign of it letting up any time soon. The snow was piling up so quickly against the doors that Sansa often feared they would be trapped inside until spring.

She crawled under the furs and drew them around her, wishing she had the added warmth of Jon’s body to help drive away the chill which seemed to have set in her bones. She pulled out his letter from beneath her pillow and read it again:

My Dearest Sansa,  
I’m so sorry, my love, but I will not be returning home any time soon. Regretfully, we are now faced with a new enemy, one that is unseen, unheard and is without mercy. The Bloody Flux came ashore with Daenerys’ army of Unsullied and now threatens us all. Many members of the Golden Company now refuse to fight alongside the Unsullied and others have already deserted. Those of the Unsullied who so far had escaped the scourge are now dying of exposure as the blowing snow and extreme cold have been unrelenting.  
Daenerys and Aegon fight constantly. I have to remind them frequently as to what is at stake but to no avail. They are losing sight of the prize in the face of such hardship. Even the dragons squabble amongst themselves, no doubt a reflection of the turmoil that swirls around them.  
We are isolated and alone in the wilderness, forced to be nomads in our own land. The populace nearby will not help us for fear of coming in contact with the disease. The funeral pyres burn night and day and even the maesters, who offered as much comfort as they could, are succumbing to their afflictions.  
Fortunately, the provisions we brought with us will last longer than expected as there are far fewer mouths to feed than expected. And so, we move on.  
There have been no sightings of any wights or the Others. Mayhaps they feel pity for us or mayhaps they are just waiting until we are too weak to fight back.  
I don’t dare return to Winterfell at this time for fear of bringing the infection with me. Instead I must wait. Pray for me…pray for us all. 

Your devoted husband,

Jon

Sansa bit her lip and slipped the letter back under the pillow. She slept fitfully that night, plagued by dreams of death stalking her at every turn. Eventually she gave up on sleep before the sun had risen in the sky and traipsed, bleary-eyed, to the nursery to retrieve her son.

“Come, little one”, she cooed as she lifted him from his cradle. “We are going to say a prayer for your papa”.

Accompanied by one of the sentries, Sansa trudged through the deep snow with her son held firmly in her arms. She stumbled once, pausing breathlessly to regain her balance while the guard held her arm, before pushing on. 

When she reached the sept, she waited as he cleared away the snow from the door before tugging it open. The room was cold and gloomy in the early morning light.

“Shall I wait outside the door, milady?” he asked, rubbing his hands together and doing a little two-step to keep warm.

She nodded, assuring him they wouldn’t be long. 

She lit a candle and picked up a bell from the altar. She placed it in Torrhen’s wee hand and smiled as he chortled with delight with the new toy.

As they sat before the altar, Sansa quietly mouthed the prayers she had been reciting since she was a child while Torrhen tinkled the little bell.

Ring.

We believe in the Seven-Faced God.

Ring.

The Father, the Mother, the Maiden, the Crone, the Warrior, the Smith, the Stranger.

Ring.

By whom all things are made and governed.

Ring.

Please hear our prayers for aid and salvation.

Ring.

Please protect us in our hour of need.

Ring.

Please help us vanquish our enemies, both seen and unseen.

Ring.

And reunite us all once again for the greater glory.

She sat silently for a few minutes as Torrhen squirmed restlessly in her arms. Then she wrested the bell from his hand and returned it to the altar.

She wanted to feel at peace. She wondered why hope was so much harder to feel than despair. Maybe awful things are how the gods speak to us, she pondered angrily. 

Then, as she stood before the altar that had been a symbol of her faith for so long, she knew that she could no longer restrain the rage that had been simmering inside her.

With a sudden sweep of her hand the artifacts of faith fell to the floor with a crash. Torrhen let out a loud wail, more from the ferocity of her action than the noise that ensued.

The guard knocked on the door.

“Come in”, gasped Sansa.

He took one look at the objects strewn about the floor and knelt down to retrieve them.

“Take them back to the castle”, she commanded him. “We are going to need to trade them for extra provisions”.

“And”, she added as she and Torrhen paused on the threshold, “please arrange for a party of men to tear down the sept as soon as the snows let up. We can burn the wood for extra fuel and the slate floor can be used to make repairs to the kitchen". 

We may not make it through this winter alive, thought Sansa grimly as she waded through the drifts back to the castle. But at least we can try to make ourselves comfortable until the end is here.


	19. Chapter 19

The sight of the bloody strips of meat lying on the butcher’s block had Sansa reaching for the scrap bucket placed on the floor nearby. As she retched into the bucket, she heard the scrape of a chair being dragged across the floor towards her.

“Here, milady”, said one of the kitchen maids softly, “you’d best sit down”.

Sansa lowered herself while keeping the bucket placed under her chin as her stomach still roiled. The cook wiped her hands on her apron and bustled over to attend to her mistress.

“Shall I have one of the girls fetch the maester, lovey?” she asked with concern.

“No need”, Sansa panted after she spat up more bile, “he already knows”.

The cook nodded knowingly and gently held Sansa’s hair back as she leaned forward to heave into the bucket once again.

“How many moons have passed, my dear?” she enquired.

“Almost three”, replied Sansa while wiping the spittle from corners of her mouth with a clean cloth provided by one of the kitchen maids.

“And does his lordship know?” she asked while rubbing Sansa’s back.

Sansa shook her head.

“No, I want…I need to tell him in person”, she replied.

I need to seek the look of awe on his face again when I tell him the news, thought Sansa hungrily. I need to feel his warm breath on my cheek and his large hand resting lightly on my belly. I need to hear the words…the sweet words of love and reverence once more from a man who never dared believe that he would ever father a child.

The cook clucked sympathetically and shook her head.

“Then let us hope and pray that he returns home soon”, she murmured. She patted Sansa’s shoulder and then returned to rolling out the pastry.

As the evening meal began, Sansa noticed that Sam was absent from the room. This was not unusual since Sam sometimes failed to show for the meal when he was finishing up his duties or engrossed in a book. Sansa made a mental note to have a plate sent up to him later if necessary.

Halfway through the meal Sam appeared at last but instead of taking his usual seat at the table he wound his way through the hall until he stood across from Sansa. The meaning of the look on his face was clear so she rose and politely made her excuses to leave. 

They silently made their way to Sansa’s solar. When the door had been closed she reached out to him for the piece of paper he held in his hand.

“My Dearest Sansa”, the note began…

“I regret to inform you that Aegon, my brother in all but blood, is dead. We found his body in the early morning three days ago, propped up under a tree. His throat had been cut with his blood staining the snows that piled up around him. When news spread of his death the remnants of the Golden Company packed up their belongings and left immediately. I don’t know if Daenerys had anything to do with his demise. During the funeral she wept openly but I swear they were nothing but mummer’s tears. Rhaegal is agitated more than usual, no doubt sensing the loss of its rider.   
We still have not engaged the enemy. Daenerys grows impatient and insists that we push further north in search of them. I am very uneasy with this decision as that puts us squarely in unfamiliar enemy territory. But, this is her army to command as none of the northerners has joined us in our cause. Either they have no hope or they think we are all dead or close to death. And so they would rather die defending their own lands with their families by their sides.   
The plague is still upon us but takes away fewer victims every day. If the risk of spreading the disease passes then I might be able to come home for a brief visit.   
Kiss Torrhen for me. I miss you both so much.

All my love,  
Jon”

Sansa carefully folded the letter and placed it in a small wooden box that her mother had given her on her tenth nameday to store her trinkets. Then she sat down by the fire and gestured to Sam to join her.

“It just gets worse”, she said in a hoarse voice.

“Aye”, Sam agreed. 

“I feel so helpless”, muttered Sansa. “All we do is watch and wait…wait and watch. It’s like we are frozen in place. Mayhaps that was their plan in the first place…strike at us with massive force, weaken our defenses and then withdraw north so that we would give chase until we met again on their turf”.

She laughed bitterly and buried her head in her hands.

Sam laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Sansa”, he said with concern, “you look exhausted. Are you sleeping all right?”

She lifted her head and struggled to smile.

“No worse than anybody else, I expect”, she answered with faux cheer.

He frowned.

“Sansa, in your condition…” he replied. He stopped when she raised a hand.

“I understand. As soon as I have put Torrhen to bed I will retire myself”, she promised.

After repeatedly assuring him that she would take better care of herself, Sam finally left her to complete her duties before she retreated to her bedchamber.

She heard the scratching and pawing at the door just as she had slid beneath her furs. Seven hells, she thought irritably, what does Ghost want at this time of night?

As she crossed the floor she felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen. As she drew closer to the door the pain became more acute and she felt wet between her thighs. She looked down in horror at the red stain spreading on her pristine white nightrail.

Sansa staggered towards the door and wrenched it open. And as Ghost licked her fingers, she leaned heavily against the door frame, sobbing in shock and disbelief.


	20. Chapter 20

“Please, Sansa, you need to eat”, pleaded Sam.

Sansa pushed away the plate and turned her head towards the window.

“Leave me alone, Sam”, she replied vehemently. “I’m not hungry”. 

Truthfully, she still felt nauseated but she didn’t feel like elaborating. She just wanted the world to disappear.

The bleeding had stopped not long after Sansa’s cry for help. A couple of maids assisted her back to her bed while another fetched Sam from his tower.

“Is there any hope, Sam?” she had asked mournfully after a cursory examination. She remembered her mother’s miscarriage between Arya and Bran. The sadness that lingered in her mother’s eyes was heartbreaking to behold. 

Sam tried to look non-committal but was failing miserably. Sansa took it as a no. And so, confined to her bed until further notice, she burrowed under her furs and slept, trying to numb herself into believing she lived in a world free of pain and loss.

After two days, she awoke to find an elderly woman sitting by her bedside. In one hazy moment, Sansa thought that she was in the presence of Old Nan until she realized belatedly that her nanny had been dead for years now. And this woman was very much alive. She recognized her as the woman who spoke so eloquently at the mass funeral for those who died at the hands of the wights.

The old crone reached out to take her hand and patted it gently.

“The cook asked me to see you, milady”, she said in a slightly quavering voice.

Sansa withdrew her hand and sat up.

“Why?” she asked.

“She believes that I might be able to give you some hope”, the woman replied. She rose up out of her chair and leaned over Sansa, pressing one gnarled hand firmly against Sansa’s abdomen. Sansa was too surprised to object. 

The woman closed her eyes and keened softly. Sansa was mesmerized. 

Then the woman opened her eyes and moved her hand to cup Sansa’s face.

“There were two. One is sadly gone forever but the other remains and she grows bigger every day”, she said with satisfaction.

Sansa stared and wondered if the woman was mad.

“Twins?” she finally ventured to ask.

The woman nodded and sat down again. They both remained silent. She desperately wanted to believe the old woman but she had become so cynical since the miscarriage that she almost couldn’t bring herself to believe in anything anymore.

The lull was broken by the elderly woman.

“Whether you choose to believe me or not is immaterial as time will either prove or disprove what I have told you”, she said.

She rose again and leaned over to stroke Sansa’s hair.

“I’m asking you to choose life…your own, the child that quickens in your womb and the child that cries piteously for his mother”, she said gently.

Before leaving Sansa’s room, the woman paused and turned to her once more.

“He will return…I’m sure of it”, she said with fervour. And then, with a swish of her skirts she was gone.

Sansa laid a hand on her belly and wondered if it had all been a dream.

She slept for most of the day, arising finally in the early evening. She threw open the shutters and watched the pale butter sun slowly sink below the horizon until it was lost to sight. Then the moon appeared, a silvery orb high in the sky, casting shadows on the crystalline snow. She closed her eyes and dared to imagine a baby daughter with Jon’s dark curls, a pink rosebud mouth and her own lively blue eyes.

Her reverie was broken by the creak of the door opening and a startled maid standing in the doorway.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, milady”, she apologized. “I’ve just come to add more wood to the fire”.

Sansa nodded her assent.

As the maid laid more logs on the grate, the fire devoured the wood and grew robustly, dancing and swirling as it rose towards the chimney.

“Can I get you anything, milady?” she asked.

Sansa was silent for a few seconds before replying.

“Please have the nursemaid bring me my son”, she answered.

“Of course, milady…will there be anything else?” the girl replied.

“Yes…yes, please”, she said, “a little light supper would not go amiss”.

The maid smiled shyly before nodding.

“I’ll alert the cook, milady”, she said. “She will be ever so pleased”.


	21. Chapter 21

Torrhen burbled happily as he squished the mud between his plump little fingers. Then he squealed as he smashed his fist repeatedly into the pile of mud until he was almost completely covered in it. 

“Well, it looks like the little lord is going to need a bath sooner than later”, said the nursemaid as she bent down to pick up the protesting child. 

Sansa looked up from the seedling she was shoring up and smiled at the sight of Torrhen frowning and trying to wipe his dirty hands on the front of the nursemaid’s pinny.

“After you have bathed him you can take him to the kitchen for his tea. The cook says she has some choice bits of food she has prepared for him today”, called out Sansa as she sprinkled water over the plants before her.

Sansa hummed while she moved about the glass gardens, trimming back some of the plants and harvesting others. The number of hours of daylight was diminishing as winter settled in. So every minute spent in the warm and humid gardens was a reminder that there was still life to be found in the midst of this bare, cold and indifferent world.

She gathered up some vegetables for the root cellar and placed them in a large basket. Then she fastened her cloak and reluctantly returned to the castle with the basket balanced on her hip.

The winds had picked up since she had entered the glass enclosure and Sansa wondered if another snow storm approached. With every careful step on the ice and packed snow, she found herself battling increasingly stronger winds. She set the basket down and pulled her cloak closer around her as the wind whipped her hair around her face. She searched the blue skies for signs of dark grey clouds scudding in from the northwest but the only ones she could see were white, fluffy and benign.

She heard the shouts from the sentries first before she heard the telltale shriek coming from beyond the Godswood. 

“Jon!” she screamed with joy. 

She picked up her skirts and hurried closer to the yard. She could hear the flap of Viserion’s vast leathery wings as man and beast appeared over the trees.

She ran towards Jon just as he dismounted. She threw herself into his arms, laughing giddily as he lifted her off the ground in a great bear hug. 

“My love, my love”, he murmured, holding her tight, “I have missed you so much”.

“I was beginning to fear that you would never return”, she cried, her voice muffled as she buried her face in his shoulder. 

“Didn’t I tell you that I will always come back?” he replied teasingly as he lowered her to the ground.

She grabbed his face with both hands and gave him slow, passionate kiss which left them both breathless. Then she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the castle entrance as Viserion rose out of the yard and took to the sky.

“Why didn’t you warn me that you were coming?” she asked, half dragging him down the corridor towards her chambers.

“There was no time”, he replied.”A dragon can always travel faster than a raven, especially when it’s only from White Harbour”.

She stopped and turned to him.

“White Harbour?” she asked with curiosity.

“I had to sign for a line of credit with the Iron Bank of Braavos in order to purchase more provisions”, he replied while leaning against the wall. He looks so tired, Sansa noticed. There are dark circles under his eyes and his brow looks perpetually furrowed.

“What did you use to secure it?” she asked.

“The Gift”, he replied.

“I didn’t know you had the authority”, she responded coolly.

“I am the last living commander of the Night’s Watch and I am married to a Stark…it was sufficient as far as the bank was concerned”, he explained. 

And no doubt they are charging exorbitant rates for the privilege of funding this war.

“What has happened to Daenerys’ gold?” she demanded.

“Gone. Much of our funding was coming from Aegon’s supporters. After his death, they stopped sending money. Before long the coffers had run dry”, he admitted.

”When you are fighting a war in the far north”, he continued, “there is very little in the way of plunder. And wars are very costly to finance. Feeding and equipping an army takes enormous resources, resources that are becoming more and more scarce now that winter is here”. 

Not to mention the huge cost of human life, added Sansa silently.

“How many did she lose?” she asked.

Jon bowed his head briefly before answering.

“Almost half…many to disease, some to the elements and some just seemed to give up on life”, he whispered.

“And we still haven’t begun to fight”, he added grimly.


	22. Chapter 22

“You, ser, must atone for many, many lonely nights”, breathed Sansa as she glanced seductively over her shoulder while unlacing the stays on her gown. 

Jon licked his lips but otherwise stood stock still as he watched the gown slither to the floor. Sansa stepped out of it and kicked it aside. Then she slowly removed her petticoat and smallclothes and tossed them across a chair. 

Jon’s breathing was becoming more laboured and his pupils were now full-blown. Finally he spoke.

“Forgive me, my lady”, he whispered huskily. “I have been very lax in my duties as of late. Please let me make it up to you”.

She smiled imperiously as he moved closer. He bent down and tentatively kissed her breasts, pausing for an appreciative moan from Sansa before continuing downwards. At the same time, his hands traveled down her back until they reached her buttocks. He squeezed them firmly as his tongue reached the apex of her curls. And then he stopped and looked up at Sansa with a surprised look on his face.

He stood up and pressed a hand on the slight swelling of her abdomen before giving her a questioning look. She smiled and nodded, holding up five splayed fingers.

He almost crushed her in his embrace.

“Gods, Sansa”, he exclaimed, “why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because”, she began, “I needed to tell you in person…just the two of us”. 

She slid her arms around his waist and leaned against his chest. Jon stroked her hair and gently kissed the top of her head. Then he reached down to lift her up and carry her to the bed. 

He climbed under the furs with her and tugged his shirt over his head. Then he leaned back to unlace and remove his breeches until Sansa stopped him.

“Let me”, she said suggestively and then she yanked them from his hips.

Jon moaned as her lips closed over his length and her fingers danced across his groin. As her tongue circled the head and her fingers glided lower, Jon’s moans became louder.

“Sansa”, he hissed, “it’s been a long time. I’m not sure how much longer I can last”.

She pulled back and pouted at him.

Then she rose up on her knees and straddled him until she was in position. Then, with his hands on her hips to steady her, she guided him in.

It’s been so long, she thought with pleasure and relief as she sank down and braced her arms on either side of his head. He, in turn, leaned forward to nuzzle her breasts as they rested on his chest.

She rose up again as he sat up, their arms and legs entwined around each other to maintain contact. She felt like they were one being as they rose and fell together, panting and nipping at each other. And when they climaxed it was a rare moment of doing so together.

When Sansa awoke in the morning, Jon had already arisen. When she arrived in the kitchen she was greeted by the sight of Jon seated at the table with Torrhen sitting on his lap. Jon was trying to persuade him to eat some grey looking mush. But Torrhen screwed up his face in disgust and kept his mouth tightly closed while his father coaxed him in vain.

When Torrhen saw his mother he cried and reached out to her. Sansa bent down and took him from his father’s arms. Jon’s face was a mask of disappointment. 

“I was trying for some father-son bonding over breakfast but he would have none of it”, he said with a sigh. 

Sansa leaned over and kissed Jon while Torrhen clung to her tenaciously.

“Give it time”, she replied. “He’s very young and probably doesn’t remember you very well”.

“He’s growing so fast, Sansa”, Jon said sadly. “And time is something I don’t have in abundance”.

“When must you leave again?” she asked, laying a hand on his shoulder.

He laid his own hand over hers. 

“A fortnight at the latest…I’m having the supplies shipped to Eastwatch where I will meet the sledges. Then I and a small party of men will take the shipment to the new encampment in the Land of Almost Winter”.

Sansa blanched and sat down. Torrhen laid his head against her shoulder and idly played with her hair.

“Jon…it’s foolish to go so far north. It must be a land of eternal darkness now that winter is here. How will you find them?” she asked.

“Daenerys intends to keep a large fire burning as a kind of beacon”, he replied. “Believe me it will be visible for miles around as the land is very open and barren”.

“Did you try to talk her out of this?” she asked. 

“I…I wanted to pull back”, he replied. “I tried reasoning with her. I suggested that we could garrison the empty castles that used to be manned by the Watch. We could operate much like the Watch used to do…maintain a defensive position but send out small patrols to observe and report on the enemy’s movements. I tried to explain to her that winter is simply the worst time to launch a full-scale invasion of a vast, inhospitable and alien territory”. 

He stared off in silence for a few seconds before scrubbing his face and rubbing the underside of his jaw.

“She is a brilliant leader but not a very competent tactician. She used to listen to her closest advisers but they have either been dismissed or have left her service, unable to endure her bullying and erratic behaviour any longer. Selmy is the only one that remains and she regards him as a feeble old man whose advice means little to her”, he continued.

He collapsed into a moody silence once more and then he looked up at the two of them.

He held out his arms to her and she smiled. She lowered herself and Torrhen onto Jon’s lap and snuggled up to him while he wrapped his arms around both of them.

“My little family”, he murmured. “I want to spend what precious time I have left loving both of you”.

Then he slipped a hand between Sansa and his son and rested it on her belly.

“And you, as well, little one”, he whispered. “I hope and pray that I will live long enough to be a father to you, too”.

Sansa bit her lip and turned away, fighting back her tears.


	23. Chapter 23

“Jon, come to bed…it’s very late”, Sansa beckoned.

“This will only take a few more minutes”, replied Jon, his head lowered and the quill scratching furiously.

Sansa reached down and gently plucked the quill from his hand.

“That’s what you said an hour ago”, she said drily as she set it in the inkwell. “This can wait until morning”.

She held out a hand to him. He rose reluctantly and let her lead him to bed.

Sansa knew that Jon was not sleeping well. There was many a night when she awoke to find him gone. Sometimes she found him in his solar or outside conversing with the men on watch. Other nights she would find him in the nursery, dozing on the cot with Torrhen curled up in his arms.

She had insisted that they spend every night together before he had to return to the far north. The first night he disappeared she thought that maybe he had returned to his own bedchamber after finding hers too warm. Sansa refused to spend their nights together in his room because she found it too cold and spartan. Sam had japed that Jon modeled his bedchamber after his room in Castle Black.

She instructed him to sit on the edge of the bed and then reached for the oil containing a mixture of herbs that Sam had concocted. She placed a few droplets on her fingertips and then gently rubbed the oil on to Jon’s temples in a circular motion.

Jon took a few tentative sniffs.

“Well, it smells pleasant enough…what is it for?” he asked.

Sansa stroked the sides of his face and chin. 

“Sam says it will help relax you so you can sleep better”, she replied as she finished with a flourish. Then she pushed him back on to the pillows before climbing over him.

She settled next to him on to the mattress and placed his hand on her belly.

“Now, talk to your daughter”, she ordered him. 

He gave her a concerned look.

“Pardon?” he queried.

“Sam says that babes in the womb can hear voices if the speaker is close enough. So, speak to your daughter, Jon…tell her you’re her father and how much you love her. Tell her that you want to give her the world and more. I know you’re worried that you may die out there… that your son will forget all memories of you and that your daughter will have none at all. So this is your chance to pour your heart out”.

Jon gave her a hesitant look while she looked on encouragingly and then lowered his head so that it rested just below her breasts. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. And then he spoke to his unborn child.  
He introduced himself and told her that he hoped she would be as intelligent and intuitive as her beautiful mother. And that she will never have to worry as she already has an extended family that will be fiercely protective of her.

He spoke passionately and at length while Sansa played with his hair and kissed the top of his head. And when he had unburdened himself, he lifted himself off her and rested by her side, exhausted and drained. Sansa placed an arm across his chest and made soothing noises. Within minutes he lay sound asleep.

By morning, Sansa was relieved to find Jon still sleeping beside her. A small victory, she thought triumphantly. 

The day she dreaded came all too soon. The raven arrived with a message that the supply train had reached Eastwatch and had been met by a retinue of Daenerys’ army. They now awaited Lord Snow to join them in guiding them north to the encampment.

So Jon made his goodbyes once again.

”Will you reconsider Lord Manderly’s offer?” he asked as he strapped on the saddlebags.

Sansa shook her head.

“No, but I will send a letter of thanks. This child will be born in Winterfell, like her brother before her”, she replied adamantly.

Jon leaned in to kiss her once more. Torrhen whimpered and held out his arms to his father while Sansa made soothing noises and bounced him on her hip. Jon gave him a quick kiss on the top of his head and chucked him under the chin. 

“Your perseverance has paid off”, said Sansa approvingly. “I believe he misses you already”.

Although, she thought, it might be better if he didn’t for how can there be feelings of grief and loss when there are no memories to begin with?

Sansa fussed with the clasp on Jon’s cloak until he reached up to take her hand.

“You know I can’t guarantee my return before your confinement”, he said softly.

She swallowed. 

“I know”, she replied huskily.

“Will you pray for me even though the sept is gone?” he said with a smile playing on his lips.

She raised an eyebrow.

“It was just a building, Jon”, she retorted mildly, “I can pray anywhere I choose. Besides, the heart tree still stands”.

“So…in a pinch the old gods will do?” he chuckled.

Sansa looked at him seriously.

“Jon, I will pray to any god that can truly help us in our hour of need”, she admitted.

“Well”, he sighed as he mounted the dragon, “as long as the gods don’t require a human sacrifice then I guess it really doesn’t matter whom you worship”.


	24. Chapter 24

Sansa doubled over and leaned with one hand braced against the wall and the other placed on her swollen belly. It felt like a giant had wrapped his hands around her middle and was squeezing her tightly. She closed her eyes and breathed steadily while she evaluated the severity of the discomfort. 

She felt a light touch on her shoulder.

“Are you alright, miladay”, asked one of the chamber maids. “Shall I fetch the maester?”

Sansa shook her head.

“That won’t be necessary”, she gasped as she slowly straightened up. “It appears to be only false labour”. 

“Do you need some help, milady?” asked the maid. 

“I think it’s time for me to have a rest so I would appreciate your assistance in accompanying me to my chambers. I’m feeling a little lightheaded at the moment”, replied Sansa.

The maid offered her arm with a cheerful smile.

As they walked towards Sansa’s chambers, the maid prattled on about the births of her younger siblings.

“My mama had a lot of false labour with my youngest brother. It went on so long that she stopped paying attention to the pains. And then, one night she went to the privy and out popped my brother. She screamed when she realized that he had fallen into the muck so my papa had to crawl through shit to rescue him”, she said. 

“Oh, dear”, commented Sansa, “was the baby alright?”

The maid shrugged.

“Well enough, I suppose… he’s seven years old now and he doesn’t mind shoveling the manure on the farm. Says the smell doesn’t bother him”, she replied.

Seven hells, thought Sansa with a sigh, why do people feel compelled to share their birthing horror stories with pregnant women. 

Sansa tried to rest but sleep would not come. As the baby moved and kicked she shifted around on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position until she finally gave up.

The mid afternoon sun was spreading a lurid red pool of light as it slowly died in the sky, casting long ominous shadows on the frozen expanse. There were small snatches of conversation and laughter as people bustled about putting away their tools and began preparations for the coming of night. The watch changed as the sky changed into a purple wintery twilight. And then the world outside was dark and silent. 

Sansa felt unaccountably uneasy. She rose and headed to the maester’s tower seeking comfort in Sam’s company.

He was putting away some books when she entered.

“Any word from Jon?” she asked as she plopped down in one of his oversized chairs. She drew her feet up under her and smoothed out her skirts.

He blew away some dust from an ancient tome as he removed it from the shelf. 

“Nothing today…perhaps he is just too far north for the ravens”, he replied as he carefully turned the pages. “The elements and the unknown terrain can affect their navigational instincts”.

Sansa tilted her head to look at the title of the book that Sam was slowly perusing.

“Legends of Essos and the Far East”, she read on the spine. “What are you looking for, Sam?”

“Hmmm?...oh, information about the Great Other”, he answered absently as he turned another page.

Sansa scoured her memory for fragments of stories from childhood but could recall no reference to such a being.

“What is it?” she asked.

“The followers of R’hllor claim that it is the antithesis of their god…a god of darkness, ice and death. They say that the Others worship it and do its bidding”, he replied as he closed the book. “I was hoping to find out more details but I’m not having much success. Perhaps I need to consult the red priestess”.

“You won’t get any unbiased details from her, Sam. She’s a true believer of R’hllor”, she said as she slowly uncurled herself and rose unsteadily from her chair. Sam leaned forward to take her hands and pull her gently to her feet.

“Thank you”, she huffed, her face red with the exertion. “Will you be joining us for the evening meal?”

Sam nodded.

“But don’t wait for me…there are a few other books I want to check first”, he answered as he pulled another musty book off the shelf. 

As she walked towards the door she felt a dull ache in her back. She stopped to lean back and stretch, rubbing her lower back to help ease the pain. Then she felt a trickle of moisture creep down her legs.

“Sam!” she called out sharply.

He looked up from his book and saw the wet stain spreading between her legs. He closed the book in a panic and shoved it back on the shelf. 

“Sansa…I…I…” he stammered as he awkwardly grasped her shoulders.

“Help me to my bedchamber, Sam”, she said leaning against him for support. “She’s coming”.


	25. Chapter 25

Sansa closed her eyes and licked her lips as she leaned back against the pillows which were piled high against the headboard. She was dimly aware of the others in the room…Sam’s low tenor voice and the higher ones of the midwife and the midwife’s daughter.

She felt a sympathetic lick on her hand as it dangled over the side of the bed.

“Good boy”, she murmured as she patted Ghost’s head. 

The midwife’s daughter wrung out the washcloth in the basin of cool water and daubed it gently over Sansa’s slick forehead. Then she smoothed back the wet tendrils of Sansa’s hair. 

Sansa opened her eyes.

“Thank you”, she whispered. The woman smiled and dipped her head.

“You’re so close, Sansa”, said Sam enthusiastically as he clasped her hand in his own.

The midwife peered between Sansa’s legs with a look of intense concentration.

“One more push should do it…she is almost crowning”, she observed.

Sansa could feel the intolerable pain once again intensifying in her back and belly. She let out a strangled cry as she began to bear down and push with what little strength she had left. She dug her fingernails into the palm of Sam’s hand, her face twisted in agony.

The midwife looked up at Sansa.

“Give me your hand, milady”, she called out in excitement.

Sansa gritted her teeth and reached out. The midwife placed Sansa’s hand on the top of the baby’s head just as she was emerging. The top of her daughter’s head felt soft and slightly alien. And then, as the midwife caught the baby and held her up for her mother to see her, Sansa shed happy tears for the wondrous miracle of birth.

The midwife swiftly cleaned up the squalling bundle and wrapped her in a soft blanket before placing her in her mother’s arms. Sam sat on the edge of the bed and prodded the baby’s small fist.

The midwife then plunged her hands in the basin and washed them vigorously.

“She’s a wee bit small, milady, due to her being a few weeks early”, she commented as she dried her hands on a clean cloth. “But, she has all her fingers and toes. And her lungs seem to be working just fine”.

“She’s perfect”, said Sansa as she kissed her daughter.

Sam beamed at them both.

“Have you decided on a name?” he asked.

Sansa smiled and cooed as the baby gripped her mother’s finger.

“Lyra”, she replied. “Jon and I settled on it before he left”.

“A nice northern name”, said Sam with approval.

The midwife produced a small, sharp knife to cut the cord and then waited patiently for Sansa to deliver the afterbirth.

When her sleeping daughter had been placed in the cradle next to her bedside, Sansa rolled over and closed her eyes.

As she dozed lightly, fragments of memories formed her dreams. She dreamt of the time when Jon had been brought back to Winterfell, when the fever that raged inside of him threatened to consume him. No amount of cooling baths was helping to dowse the fire that burned within.

“The water is not cold enough, Sansa”, said Sam. “I swear he warms it up the longer he remains immersed in it”.

Sansa was silent as she desperately tried to find a solution.

“The pond in the center of the godswood”, she began, “Father always said it was very deep, dark and cold. We were forbidden to swim in it as children because Mother was convinced it was too dangerous”.

Sam nodded.

“I’ll take him there”, he replied.

Sansa grabbed his arm.

“I’m coming with you”, she said firmly.

They mustered a group of men to carry Jon to the godswood. As they lowered him to the ground, Sam began removing his boots.

“What are you doing?” asked Sansa.

“Somebody has to go in the water with him to make sure he doesn’t roll over and drown”, replied Sam as he began to pull his tunic over his head.

Sansa grabbed the hem of his tunic and held fast.

“I’ll go in the water with him”, she said.

Sam opened his mouth in protest.

“Sansa, it should be me…I’m his brother”, he argued.

Sansa began to shed her shoes and gown.

“But I’m his blood”, she replied, shivering as she waded into the frigid water.

She took hold of him as he was lowered into the pond.

“How long?” she asked, her teeth chattering and her lips turning blue.

Sam looked at her helplessly.

“As long as you both can stand it”, he answered.

She scooped up some water and poured it over his head. She uttered a silent prayer as she continued to bathe him in the icy water, stopping only when she saw his eyelashes begin to flutter. Then he opened his eyes.

“Sansa?” he asked weakly.

She pressed her lips against his forehead which no longer felt so fiery hot.

“You have a serious infection, Jon”, she whispered. “We needed to bring the fever down before it killed you”.

He reached up to grab her hand.

“Sansa”, he gasped, “can we get out of the water now? It’s bloody cold”.


	26. Chapter 26

It had been a rare period of peace and tranquility. After spending a significant part of the morning happily digging together in the glass gardens, Sansa took Torrhen outside to teach him how to feed the birds that wintered over.

She showed him how to hold his arm straight out, palm up and fingers close together. He giggled as she sprinkled the seeds on to his hands and then she told him to remain very quiet and still. 

At first, all they could hear was the breeze as it rattled the bare branches of the trees. She could see that his arm was beginning to tire so she offered words of encouragement.

“The best things are worth waiting for”, she promised. 

His eyes grew big as he heard its saucy song. A small chickadee was flitting from branch to branch, moving ever closer to the child who waited patiently.

He grinned broadly at his mother as the bird landed on his hand and began to rapidly eat the seeds. Then it flew off to a nearby tree and chirped inquisitively. 

Sansa shook some more seeds into Torrhen’s hand.

“Chick-a-dee-dee-dee”, sang Torrhen as he mimicked the little bird’s song. The bird lit on to his hand once more to peck at the seeds before flying off into the forest.

Sansa ruffled her son’s curls in praise before taking him back inside the castle walls.

When they arrived in the nursery, Lyra was just beginning to stir.

As she sat on the floor with her daughter at her breast and the sun warming her back, she contentedly watched Torrhen haul his toys out from a small wooden chest. 

He toddled back and forth between his mother and the chest, each time bearing one of his toys as a gift and laid them at her feet. Sansa thanked him warmly as he brought over a brightly painted block, a small boat and a crudely rendered wooden horse. 

“Thank you, sweetling”, she murmured, “your sister will cherish these treasures”.

Then he cackled wildly as he swept his hands back and forth rapidly over the toys and sent them skittering across the floor. The nursemaid was none too pleased.

“Master Torrhen”, she scolded him, “that was very rude”.

Sansa suppressed a smile and motioned to her son to sit in her lap.

He eyed his sister nursing and tugged at the neck of his mother’s gown. He glowered when his mother shook her head and said no. 

Then she leaned down to speak to him in a loud whisper.

“I have heard tell that the cook has set aside some lemoncakes from last night’s supper”, she said conspiratorially, “and that she might be willing to share them with a nice, polite little boy who is sweet to his mother and sister”.

She looked at the nursemaid to see if she understood the meaning of her words.

The nursemaid nodded and held out her hand.

“Come along, little lord”, she said. “We’re going to go visit the kitchen”.

His face lit up like the sun and he threw his arms around his mother’s neck. He gave her and the baby each a quick peck on the cheek before scrambling to his feet. Then he waved goodbye over his shoulder as he and the nursemaid departed the room.

Sansa and the baby retired to her solar. Lyra dozed in her arms while Sansa quietly sang songs from her childhood. 

She heard the scratching at the door and rose to let Ghost in.

The direwolf panted and paced nervously about the room. Sansa frowned and was about to order him out when she heard a knock and Sam’s voice. 

“You’ve received bad news, haven’t you?” she asked as she admitted him.

Sam swallowed and nodded. 

“The ravens…the ravens have been arriving all morning”, he replied. “There have been more sightings of wights…everywhere, it seems”.

“And…the dragons?” she asked with apprehension in her voice.

“There…there has been no sign of them”, he answered with his head hanging down.

Sansa swore under her breath as Lyra opened her blue grey eyes and peered at her mother.

“Tell the men to begin making preparations for another siege”, she ordered brusquely.

Seven hells, Jon, she seethed, where are you and that damnable woman?

Sansa spent the afternoon supervising the harvesting and storage of food in anticipation of an even longer assault.

She stopped when she saw Sam’s face and the message clutched in his fist.

“What is it?” she asked impatiently.

“It’s from Jon. He’s in White Harbor”, he replied as he thrust it towards her.

She felt some momentary relief that at least he was still alive.

It was a brief note:

Dearest Sansa,  
All is lost. I am coming home.  
Your loving husband,  
Jon

Sansa crumpled up the message and stood too stunned to move, torn between happiness and dread. Then she turned to one of the maids.

“Make up his lordship’s bed….he will be returning anon”, she said as she threw the message on the fire.


	27. Chapter 27

He arrived without fanfare…a solitary, broken man astride a dappled grey mare. 

She was shocked by his appearance. He was gaunt with hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes, looking as if he had aged ten years. As he stood there, cradling his daughter, she barely recognized him as the man she married.

But when he smiled at her, looking more like the Jon of old, she felt her heart lighten with hope.

“She looks like me”, he said in awe.

“She’ll be a beauty like your mother”, replied Sansa. 

“Thank you, my love”, he whispered as he passed the sleeping baby back to her mother. Then he dropped to one knee.

“Have you nothing to say to me, young man?” he asked in a mock stern voice.

Torrhen clung to Sansa’s skirts looking uncertain as he stared at the man before him. She leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“Papa”, she said as she gave her son a gentle push.

Torrhen took a few hesitant steps and then reached out to his father. Jon took him in his arms and held him tight, fighting back the tears. 

Sansa held out a hand.

“You look like you could use a bite to eat, my lord”, she said as she led him inside, Torrhen swinging from his arm.

The cook took one look at him and began issuing orders to the kitchen staff to bring him his favourite foods. As they scurried about she gave him a hug and bid him sit down. 

“If nothing else I intend to use my remaining days trying to fatten you up”, she vowed pinching his cheek.

Sansa watched gravely as Jon picked at his food.

“Jon, you need to eat”, she admonished him softly. “You are dangerously thin”.

He pushed the plate away with a sigh. 

“I don’t have much of an appetite”, he replied.

She reached up and pushed aside a stubborn curl.

“Maybe after you’ve had some rest you’ll be ready to eat and then…talk”, she said.

She accompanied him to his chambers and then stayed to help him undress. His ribs protruded but he was not too emaciated, Sansa noted with relief.

She crawled into bed with him and wrapped her arms around him. He was still shivering despite having stoked the fire until it roared. She tucked her head between his bony shoulder blades and waited until he fell asleep before she stealthily withdrew, placed an extra fur over him, poked at the fire once more and left him to rest.

He slept through the night and well into the late morning. When he arose and joined her in her solar he looked better after having bathed and donned fresh, clean clothes. She vowed to trim his hair and beard before the day was done as he currently looked more like a wildling than the lord of a great house.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asked as she greeted him.

He gave her a kiss before pulling up a chair.

“Torrhen shared his lemoncakes with me”, he replied with a chuckle. “It looks like you have competition now as to who loves them more”.

It was so good to see him laugh and smile, thought Sansa.

“And have you been to see your daughter today?” she asked as she closed the accounts book and slipped it into the drawer of her desk.

“I just came from the nursery”, he replied, his eyes misting over. “She is a bonny, wee thing isn’t she”.

“Aye, that she is”, she agreed.

They sat in awkward silence until Sansa finally spoke up.

“What happened out there, Jon?” she asked. “When did it all go wrong?”

He fiddled with his hands before answering.

“Where do I start?” he replied.

Sansa leaned back in her chair and folded her arms.

“Try the beginning”, she suggested.


	28. Chapter 28

Jon stood up and crossed the room to close the door. Then he poured wine into two goblets and offered one to Sansa. She waved it aside while he took a swig of his own.

“The day we left Eastwatch, with the sun at our backs, I uttered a silent prayer of thanks for its light as we began our journey once more into darkness”, he began. “As the days wore on we began to lose precious daylight until I could count its hours on the fingers of one hand. We were soon plunged into total darkness with only the stars to guide our way. It was then that I remembered some of Maester Luwin’s astronomy lessons and looked to the North Star which burned brightest in the sky”.

Sansa recalled those lessons fondly. Jon and Robb usually feigned attention, itching to get out into the yard to re-enact the age of heroes. She and Jeyne usually rolled their eyes and giggled in the corner while Arya was restless and bored. Only Bran sat in rapt attention, seemingly absorbed by everything Maester Luwin had to say.

“Eventually we could see a glow over the horizon. Daenerys was as good as her word and had left a great fire burning to lead us to her. But when we arrived at the encampment, we found it in a sad state of disarray. In our absence, the food stores had been almost depleted so that, in the face of starvation, the famous discipline of the Unsullied had broken down. Tempers had flared and men had died at the hands of their brothers-in-arms. Our arrival with more provisions helped to restore some calm but I feared that the rift amongst some had become irreparable”, he continued.

“I questioned some of the men and discovered that there had been some sightings of the Others in the hills nearby. But when they gave chase, the Others disappeared seemingly down a rabbit hole. The men searched the area thoroughly and couldn’t find the source of the Others’ escape”, he said as he shook his head ruefully.

“I looked for Daenerys and finally found her in her tent. I wanted to discuss the implications of these sightings and discuss strategy. Instead, she begged me to help her search for Rhaegal. The dragon had been gone for several days. It wasn’t unusual for the dragons to be gone for long periods of time as they had to fly further afield in search of game. But she was convinced this time that Rhaegal was in danger. She and Drogon had already spent countless hours looking to no avail. So I offered to take Viserion and hunt for the missing dragon by myself as she appeared to be too exhausted and irrational at this juncture to be of much help”, he said before pausing to take his seat again.

“Viserion and I left the camp almost immediately. As I look back, I realize that the signs were all there of an imminent catastrophe but I was too absorbed by the conditions in the camp to pay attention”, he continued. “The encampment was surrounded on all sides by gently sloping hills which provided a break from the bitter winds. The camp fires burned continuously due to the cold and darkness. I heard the noises earlier but I didn’t give them much heed…until I pulled away into the blackened sky”.

“What noises?” asked Sansa curiously.

“Do you remember the great ice storm when we were children?” he asked.

She nodded with a distant look in her eyes.

“I remember the freezing rain falling for days. And when it was over the world was encased in a thick layer of ice. The forest looked like an enchanted fairy land and I desperately wanted to play amongst the trees and pretend that I was an ice princess in my frozen kingdom but Father said it was too dangerous”, she recalled.

“Do you recall the trees cracking and groaning under the weight of the ice as they swayed in the wind?” he asked.

“Yes”, she replied slowly.

“Those were the noises I heard. By the time I realized what they signaled it was too late. Viserion and I had already turned around but when we returned it was like the earth had opened up and swallowed the camp whole”, he said as he lowered his head in chagrin.

“They had set up camp on a snow covered glacier. The weight of so many men and equipment in addition to the heat of the fires had eroded the ice and caused it to give way”, he explained. “Some managed to escape, those who were close to the edge or who could swim to safety before the frigid water was able to claim them. I managed to pull a few from the water’s icy grip but their numbers were few”.

“And what of Daenerys?” asked Sansa fearfully.

“Gone…along with Drogon and Viserion”, he answered raising his eyes to meet hers.

She gaped at him.

“How…how did both dragons perish?” she gasped.

Jon’s eyes strayed into the middle distance before returning his gaze to hers.

“Viserion died trying to pluck Drogon from the inky water. They thrashed about wildly and clung to each other until they were both sucked into a vortex of freezing water”, he said sadly.

Sansa pursed her lips. Seven hells, she thought, this changes everything.

“How many of you survived?” she asked sharply.

“Twenty-seven of us left the encampment that day. We salvaged what we could before making the trip south. After a few days…nights…I dunno, it’s difficult to measure time when the sun neither rises nor sets…the ones who spent any time in the water gradually died of complications due to exposure. And then, when our meager provisions ran out and there was no game to be found, the dead became a feast for the living”.

Sansa stared in horror.

“You didn’t…I mean…did you…?” she asked in a tremulous voice.

Jon narrowed his eyes in disgust.

“No”, he replied vehemently.

“How many of you made it to White Harbor?” she asked.

“There were thirteen of us who limped our way out of the wilderness. One or two of the Unsullied might stay in White Harbor to serve Lord Manderly. The rest…well, they could hardly wait for the next ship to sail away from these godforsaken shores. The woman who set them free is dead and they owe no allegiance to me. They probably couldn’t wait to see the backside of me since I instigated the whole miserable campaign”, he replied with a deep sigh.

Jon buried his face in his hands and then drew them together as if in prayer.

“What do we do now?” Sansa whispered.

Jon shrugged helplessly.

“I could ask Lady Melisandre for guidance”, he replied.

“No!” Sansa snapped. “I don’t trust her judgment. She assured us that the dragons were the answer and here we are. The wights are bearing down on us again and our defenses are weak. I will have Sam send out more appeals to the Crown and pray that they believe us this time and send us reinforcements before it is too late”.


	29. Chapter 29

Sansa rocked back on her heels and ran a hand across her damp forehead to push her hair off her face. Then she wiped her hands on her pinny and rose to her feet to take stock of how the harvesting and replanting was progressing.

Torrhen was enthusiastically picking the delicate strawberries. Sansa estimated that half were ending up in his increasingly distended belly judging by the red smear on his lips and hands. She scolded him for being greedy while wiping off his face and hands. Then she gave him a small spade and showed him how to dig up the potatoes and carrots. Within minutes, dirt was being flung in all directions as he attacked this new task with equal gusto.

She didn’t hear Jon enter the glass gardens until she felt his arms slip around her and his lips on the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and leaned into him. 

“So, what did Sam say?” she murmured.

“He agreed that it is an impressive shade of purple”, he whispered softly before he kissed her behind her ear.

Sansa twisted to give him a withering glance and gave him a playful dig with her elbow. He made a show of mock protest as he rubbed his chest.

“Is there no treatment for it?” she asked as she returned to her planting.

“No, except I should keep both of them covered in future when venturing outside in such extreme cold”, he said as he removed his cloak and tossed it aside. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and passed her the watering container.

Sansa sprinkled water on the row of seedlings and then set aside the container. Then she reached up to tug on Jon’s curls.

“You would think such a massive head of hair would help prevent your ear from becoming frostbitten”, she teased. She giggled as he threw back his head and shook his curls like a preening peacock.

She stepped aside as Jon produced another flat of seedlings to be planted before they lost the light for the day. She watched him as he deftly dug a line of small holes and popped the young plants into the pockets. She followed up with the watering container. They continued in silence, rhythmically working side by side until the planting was done. By this time Torrhen was bored with digging for root vegetables and begged to be picked up by his father. As Jon lifted his son on to his shoulders, Sansa took a few seconds to appreciate how improved he had become.

He was recovering steadily as food and rest had added a few pounds and taken away a few years. The cook made him tasty dishes which he devoured with alacrity. The only choice cut of meat he refused to eat was roast pork. He said that the smell alone caused his stomach to roil.

“Too many bad memories”, he said as he blanched and leaned against the wall for support the first time he passed by the kitchen as the meat slowly turned on the spit. “There’s a reason they refer to human flesh as long pig”.

As they walked across the yard, Torrhen pointed excitedly to a large flock of birds taking flight into the dimming sky. Sansa looked up and saw that the sky was alive with the fluttering of their wings but they did not call to each other. She looked around with a sense of unease but could only see their long shadows spreading out on the hard packed snow.

She caught Jon’s eye and saw that he, too, looked worried. 

“Something has spooked them”, he muttered under his breath.

She nodded.

“We need to make haste”, she said. “We have to make sure everyone is prepared”.

They parted ways as they entered the castle. Sansa delivered Torrhen to the nursery while Jon dispatched men and women to warn the others to prepare for a possible imminent attack.

Jon mustered some men to check on their defenses. Once they were assured that the newly reinforced gates would hold and that the entrance to the crypts had been sealed off, they herded the very young, old and infirm into the maester’s tower once more. And then they waited. 

Sansa stood next to Sam before the open window with her daughter cradled in her arms. The moon was up and casting a silvery light over the scene before them, giving the illusion of life outside the stalwart walls of Winterfell. She could just barely make out Jon pacing on the battlement, his heavy cloak twisting in the breeze. Everyone was in a state of readiness. 

The fog crept through the trees like a ghostly apparition. Tendrils of white mist floated towards them and gently licked at the outer walls. Sansa could hear the shouts of alarm go up amongst the men on watch and she watched Jon peer over the wall, Ghost at the ready by his side.

“This is very odd”, observed Sam, his brow furrowed. “I don’t understand…we shouldn’t be experiencing fog on a night like this. It’s too cold and windy”. 

Sansa let out a slow breath.

“Death stalks us tonight”, she murmured. “I hope and pray that when my time comes there will be somebody left to feed my body to the fire”.

Sam raised his hand to her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. She looked at him gratefully before leaning down to kiss her daughter’s downy head.

She startled with the first blast of the horn. She passed her daughter to the attending nursemaid when she heard the second blast. Then she closed the shutters when she heard the third.


	30. Chapter 30

They stood together, hand in hand, with the freezing mist swirling about them. The soupy fog had penetrated the castle grounds, making it impossible to see beyond one’s reach. 

“Where in seven hells are they?” fumed Jon in frustration.

Sansa could hear the shouts of the archers calling for more torches.

“That won’t do any good”, she muttered. “No light can penetrate a fog this thick”.

“Quiet!” shouted Jon. “If we can’t use our eyes then we need to use our ears”. 

Silence ensued. Both Sansa and Jon strained to hear beyond the sound of the wind whistling through the trees. 

“There!” came the excited cry.

As the mist parted, Jon and Sansa saw three spectral figures with penetrating blue eyes seated on decaying horses. The horses pawed at the snow impatiently while the faces of the Others remained impassive.

The archers drew back their bows and prepared to loose a volley of arrows until Jon called out a halt.

“Jon”, hissed Sansa, “what are you doing? Now is our chance!”

Jon shook his head. 

“Look and listen, Sansa”, he said staring at the three creatures. “They have come alone”.

True, thought Sansa as she glanced about wildly. An army of wights is incapable of being silent and stealthy. But these three are far more dangerous than any army they command.

Jon turned to her.

“I’m going out to meet with them”, he said. 

Sansa paled.

“No, Jon”, she entreated. “This is madness. You can’t possibly expect any mercy from them”.

“I’m not expecting mercy”, he muttered, “just an end to this damned war”.

“You can’t go out there alone”, she said shakily.

He smiled and whistled. 

“I won’t be alone”, he said as Ghost trotted to his side. He gave her a kiss and a quick squeeze.

“I’ll be back”, he whispered before descending the steps with Ghost close at his heels. 

Sansa wrung her freezing hands as she watched the pair of them cross the moonlit expanse before the mist enshrouded them and they were lost to view. She watched and listened helplessly as some of the men and women gathered behind her. 

She beckoned to the lead archer.

“Take a few of the men and sufficient arrows with obsidian tips. Bring him back. Show no mercy…they have played with us long enough”, she ordered. He nodded before issuing the order to saddle up some horses.

She paced nervously along the battlement for the better part of an hour. Finally she could contain herself no longer.

“Jon!” she screamed hoarsely into the rolling mist. “Jon!”

She was met with silence. Finally she could hear the crunching of snow as dark figures emerged from the ghostly mist. A knot of fear formed in her chest as she waited for them to reveal themselves.

“Milady”, cried the halting voice of the lead archer, “I’m requesting permission to call off the search”.

“Get back inside these walls and explain yourself”, she called out angrily. 

She ran carefully down the steps and met them outside the stable. 

The archer dismounted and lowered his gaze when he saw her blazing eyes.

“We searched everywhere, milady”, he mumbled. “The fog is so thick in some places that the horses stumbled more than once and one almost broke a leg. We pressed on because we know this land like the back of our hands but it’s like they vanished into the night”.

Her face softened when she saw the misery and disappointment writ large on their faces.

“Keep watch tonight”, she said, “and resume your search at first light”.

Sam was alone in the maester’s tower when she arrived. He assured her that both children had been taken to the nursery. Sansa sat in one of his chairs looking dejected. Sam took her hand and patted it gently.

“Jon is a survivor, Sansa. He has lived more lives than I will ever see”, he said as he comforted her. 

She thanked him for his kind but empty words and dragged herself off to collect her children to take them to her bedchamber. 

While she fed Lyra, Torrhen bounced on the bed before sliding under the furs. His eyes grew heavy as his mother tucked his baby sister into the cradle which stood beside the bed. And then, as the last candle had been snuffed, he curled up in his mother’s arms and was soon fast asleep.

Sansa lay awake for a while, watching the interplay of light and darkness on the ceiling, until sleep finally overcame her.

She awoke a few hours later to the sound of her daughter crying. 

“Hush, little love”, she whispered as she lifted the baby from the cradle. “Let’s not wake your brother”.

While her daughter fed, Sansa gazed intently at the fire as if to find an answer in the flames. The room was cooling rapidly as the fire slowly extinguished itself with nothing left to keep it alive. By the time Lyra was placed on her mother’s shoulder, the fire was nothing but embers and they sat in almost total darkness.

As she placed her sleeping daughter back in her cradle and covered her with extra furs, Sansa could hear Jon’s words echoing in her head:

“Sansa, can we get out of the water now? It’s bloody cold.”

She threw more wood on the fire. As she poked and prodded the logs to encourage the fire to come to life, she heard same words again only this time she could swear that he was right beside her. She swiveled and scanned the room quickly but she saw only shadows and her own sleeping children. 

And then she felt the cold realization tightening in her gut. 

“I know where he is”, she whispered mournfully.


	31. Chapter 31

“Sansa, wait!” puffed Sam as he ran after her. But Sansa was in no mood to tarry, not even for Sam’s sake. 

“Assemble a group of three to four men and tell them to meet me in the godswood”, she shouted breathlessly as she sprinted from the yard.

He paused shaking his head and returned to the castle.

They found her standing by the weirwood tree, flushed and agitated. 

“He’s in there, Sam”, she said pointing to the pond. “I know it”.

The other men looked uneasily at each other until one of them spoke up.

“Are you sure, milady?” he asked, “Because there’s no sign of anybody having trod on this ice recently. The snow appears to be untouched”.

She glared at him, her chest heaving.

“Give me your sword”, she demanded. 

After a moment’s hesitation Sansa lunged at him and pulled the sword from its sheath.

“Milady!” he protested. 

Sansa dragged the sword the edge of the pond. Then she raised it with both fists and began banging on the ice with the sharp tip. The men shrugged and moved to join her in chipping away at the ice.

But the ice was thick and impenetrable, as hard as a diamond after months of freezing cold weather. 

“Stand aside!” yelled Sam as he shouldered his way through the small band. He raised high an ax and brought it down with all his might. After a few more blows the ice showed signs of cracking. The other men moved in to work away at the gaps forming in the ice until it began to break up into pieces. 

The men withdrew to the castle and returned minutes later with farming implements. Using hoes and shovels they bashed away at the ice that hugged the bank. Sansa peered anxiously at the black water that revealed itself as the chunks of ice drifted farther apart. 

Then one of the men stopped and straightened up. His shoulders drooped momentarily and Sansa could see him girding himself before plunging into the icy water. Immediately some of the other men began to point and shout while others waded into the water after him. 

They pulled together and lifted the body out of the water before dragging it to the bank of the pond.

Sansa knelt before him to touch Jon’s stone cold face and frozen hair. Hot tears fell on him as she broke into loud wails. Sam wrapped his arms around her heaving shoulders and she could feel him shake with silent grief.

She gathered Jon up in her arms in the vain hope that her warmth might magically revive him but his pallor remained grey and his body stiff.

“My love, my love”, she cried. The pain was unbearable and she felt her heart fill with sorrow. 

Sam gently pulled her off Jon’s body so that the men could gather him up and carry him back to the castle.

“We’ll place him in the ice house until we can assemble the bier”, said Sam as he slipped a hand under her elbow. She nodded dumbly as she was too numb to reply. 

They placed him on a slab and a guard was posted outside the door.

“Coming?”asked Sam as he held out a hand.

Sansa shook her head and dried her tears on her sleeve.

“No”, she replied huskily. “I…I want to stay with him a while longer. You go ahead…let everyone know”.

“Aye, they will want to pay their respects”, he responded. 

Sam returned moments later bearing a chair and bade her sit. Then he left her alone with her grief. 

She sat in silence for a few minutes, hearing only the wind whistling through the cracks in the boards and the restless shuffling of the guard’s feet. She took up Jon’s cold limp hand in hers and spoke quietly from the core of her being.

She spoke of her enduring love for him and how grateful she was to have their children, a legacy of their love. Then she reminisced about growing up together in Winterfell, remembering stories of playing Capture the Keep, making snow forts and chasing each other through the corridors. 

“You’ve always been a part of my life, Jon…the best part”, she whispered. Tears stung her eyes as she lowered her head to kiss his hand. 

She felt him brush up against her as he came up from behind. He was as silent and white as the north itself but his breath was warm and comforting.

“Thanks, boy”, she said as she ruffled his fur. He licked at her salty tears and nuzzled her neck. She uttered a rueful laugh and held his long snout between her hands.

“We’ll miss him together, Ghost”, she sighed as she looked into his red eyes. And then she saw something change. At first she dismissed it as a trick of the light. But as she stared at Ghost’s face, she became more and more convinced that what she saw was no mere reflection of the dim interior of the hut.

Ghost’s eyes had turned dark grey…the dark grey of a stormy, northern sky…the colour of Jon’s eyes.

She called out to the guard.

“Fetch the maester immediately”, she ordered him. Then she rested her head against Ghost’s and wrapped her arms around him. The direwolf vibrated with life. 

She looked up when Sam arrived a few minutes later. 

“Tell me…does the red woman still live?” she asked. 

He looked at her with curiosity.

“She does. She still lives in the small keep that Jon gifted her”, he replied.

“Put together a party of men and go to her immediately”, said Sansa. “Tell her I need her and am willing to offer whatever terms she demands”.

Sam’s eyes flitted for a second to Jon’s body and then back to Sansa. 

He shook his head. 

“Sansa”, he stammered, “is this wise? I miss him, too, but this…this would be an abomination”.

She held up a hand to halt his protest. 

“Whatever terms she demands”, she repeated through gritted teeth.


	32. Chapter 32

The woman who stood before her was a symphony in scarlet. She was tall and beautiful with long copper red hair, a pale, unblemished complexion and clothed in a long crimson gown. One might mistake her for a younger woman but for her eyes. Her visage was young but her eyes showed the weariness of a much older woman.

I suspect she is older than time itself, thought Sansa. 

“I understand you sent for me, my lady”, said Melisandre as she removed her red cloak and passed it to the attending servant girl. The girl glanced at Sansa who dismissed her with a nod.

Sansa gestured to the red woman to take a seat before sitting down at her desk. Then she leaned back in her chair as she coolly appraised the priestess.

My husband’s other woman, thought Sansa with some amusement.

Jon and Sam rarely argued but the red woman had been the cause of many a vociferous quarrel. Sam worried that Melisandre was exercising undue influence on Jon and had beguiled him. Jon had laughed off his concerns at first and then became more defensive the longer Sam persisted in denigrating her. 

“She’s a charlatan, Jon”, Sam had insisted loudly, his voice rising as he became more distressed. 

“I’ll admit she has made mistakes in her interpretations”, Jon had responded hotly. “But there is always a kernel of truth in what she says”.

Sansa was alternately wary and skeptical of the woman’s powers. She stared in fascination at the ruby necklace that was said she wore at all times. 

“I have heard that the gem glows when you are working your magic”, she commented. The red woman’s hand flew to her throat and she fingered the ruby nervously. 

“It is not so much magic as channeling the power of R’hllor, the one and only true god”, she replied serenely as she recovered her poise. 

Sansa gave her a disarming smile before continuing.

“I expect Maester Tarly has told you what has transpired”, she said.

Melisandre nodded and leaned forward, her expression one of sympathy.

“My condolences, my lady”, she offered. “Lord Snow was a very kind and generous man”.

He was indeed, agreed Sansa silently. And perhaps it was his kindness and faith in your abilities that ultimately led to his death.

“What do you require of me, my lady? Would you like me to perform the traditional burial ritual before Lord Snow’s body is consigned to the flames?” Melisandre asked.

Sansa stared at her for a few seconds before shaking her head. 

“No”, she replied bluntly. “I want you to perform a resurrection”.

The red priestess sat back and blinked rapidly. There was a brief look of astonishment before she regained her composure.

“Are you certain this is what you really want?” Melisandre cautioned. 

“I am”, replied Sansa firmly.

The red woman sat in contemplative silence while Sansa drummed her fingers impatiently on her desk. 

“Can you do it?” Sansa demanded.

Melisandre gave her a scornful look.

“Do you doubt the power of R’hllor?” she replied angrily. “For I am merely a conduit for his words”.

Sansa stared at her briefly before replying.

“I am prepared to believe in any god that has the power to restore my husband to me”, she answered quietly.

Melisandre frowned before continuing.

“Assuming I perform such an act on your behalf…I must warn you that he will not be the same man he was before he died”, she said as she unconsciously touched the ruby at her neck. “And this might lead to tragedy in the end”.

Sansa narrowed her eyes as she studied the red woman. The story that had been passed on was that Melisandre, at the insistence of Stannis’ wife, Selyse, had called upon the powers of R’hllor to resurrect Stannis when he died. But, upon his revival, he fell into a deep well of depression. It was as if the fire within him had been snuffed out. In the end, he threw himself into the sea from his tower on Dragonstone and into the arms of the Drowned God. 

“I have no fear of such consequences because this situation is different”, replied Sansa. “I need you to revive only his body”.

Melisandre looked at her with barely disguised disdain. 

“What good is a man without a soul?” she contended. “He would be a monster, no better than those mindless wights that terrorize the countryside. I refuse to countenance such an unnatural act”.

“His soul resides safely in another”, snapped Sansa. “When his body has been revived then his soul will return to its owner”.

A look of understanding passed over the red woman’s face.

“Ah…” she said, “well at least he heeded my words and kept his wolf by his side when they met”.

Sansa gaped at her.

“You knew?” she sputtered. “You knew they were going to kill him?”

“Gods can be jealous, spiteful creatures, my lady”, replied Melisandre calmly. “I suspected that Lord Snow would be punished for bringing dragons to the north and challenging the power of the Great Other”. 

“Time is pressing, my lady”, the red woman continued as she rose to her feet. “If you sincerely want me to bring your husband back to you then it must be done before sundown. As well you know, the night is dark and full of terrors so we must make haste to bring Lord Snow back into the light before he is lost to the darkness forever”.


	33. Chapter 33

“Sansa, I’m begging you to reconsider”, pleaded Sam. He jogged beside her as she walked swiftly down the corridor. 

“My mind is made up”, replied Sansa calmly.

Sam grabbed her arm in a bid to slow her down. 

“Sansa, please…just because we can do something doesn’t mean that we should”, he said softly.

She paused long enough for Sam to pull her into an empty chamber. Then he turned to her to make his case. 

“Look…I know you really believe that you saw Jon in Ghost’s eyes”, he admitted, “but what if you are wrong. What if…what if in a moment of grief and longing you saw what you wanted to see…an ember of hope that the man you truly love and lost could still live?”

She opened her mouth in protest but he cut her off.

“Hear me out…or what if Jon still resides in his body? You know what the red priestess said, that resurrection changes people”, he continued. “Do you really want what happened to your mother happen to Jon, too?”

Sansa’s face crumpled with the memory.

Her beautiful and protective mother had been murdered at The Twins along with Robb and countless other Stark followers. Her lifeless body had been found on the shores of the Trident and resurrected by the red priest, Thoros. For many moons she roamed the surrounding countryside as a heartless virago, single-mindedly seeking vengeance on the family that caused their deaths before disappearing without a trace.

“And what if his spirit has already fled this world, Sansa?” he added passionately. “You would be left with a reanimated body. Then what do you do with him? It won’t be Jon…it could never be Jon. It would be an empty vessel and nothing more”. 

He took both of her hands in his and looked straight into her eyes.

“There is not a day that goes by that I don’t stop and think of Gilly”, he said wistfully. “I often wonder what might have happened if I had taken her with me to Oldtown…that she might still be alive today…that we might still be together”.

“Oh, Sam…” replied Sansa sadly. “I’m so sorry that the memory of her still haunts you”.

“The point is that I would never consider trying to bring her back”, he sighed. “Sometimes you just need to take the time to accept your loss and let the dead live peacefully on in your memories”.

Sansa reflected on his words as she searched for a reply.

“I don’t know what to do…I just…I want him back so desperately”, she implored. She felt the tears begin to sting in her eyes.

“I know it’s foolish”, she sobbed, “to trust in a woman who burns people alive to prove her devotion to her god. But right now she is the only hope I have of bringing him back to me”.

“Sansa, what you are considering goes beyond all the ethical boundaries of a maester’s duties”, Sam pointed out. “But, if you are determined to go ahead with the ritual then I will support you no matter what the outcome”.

She gripped his hands and leaned forward slightly.

“Thank you”, she whispered. “I’ll do as you ask and think on it”. 

She left him and hurried to the yard where Melisandre was waiting for her.

“Are you ready, my lady?” asked the priestess.

Sansa looked at the body of her dead husband as it lay motionless on the bier. Then she shook her head.

“Not yet”, she stammered. “I…I need a few more minutes to consider”.

Melisandre raised her eyes to the darkening sky.

“Don’t take too long. We are losing the light”, she replied.

Sansa nodded and walked quickly to the godswood. She knew she needed to pray but she also knew the Seven could not help her.

She knelt before the stark white weirwood tree and looked upon its ancient face. She had often watched her father and Jon pray to the old gods but she was unfamiliar with the ritual. 

“What do you say to them?” she had once asked Jon after he returned from his prayers. He had shrugged.

“I speak from the heart”, he replied simply.

So she closed her eyes and prayed for guidance.

“Give me a sign…anything so that I will know what to do”, she whispered fervently. She listened to the wind rustle through the trees and across the snowy landscape. The silence became almost unbearable.

She opened her eyes and struggled to her feet in despair. Then she heard the merry song of a little chickadee as it danced from branch to branch.

“Go away, little bird”, she growled. “My heart and my hands are empty right now”.

The bird paused on a branch and cocked its head to one side as it repeated its cheery chirping.

The birds never give up hope, she thought. Is it because they know that winter will one day give way to spring or do they simply have faith?

She looked up at the sky which was turning a darker shade of purple as it faded into twilight. 

I need to make a decision now, she realized. There are no certainties in life. Even Jon proved that the rising and setting of the sun is not an everyday occurrence if you travel too far north in winter. 

I can’t survive without hope, she decided. I need to make a leap of faith.


	34. Chapter 34

Melisandre gave the signal to light the fires that ringed the bier. 

As the flames shot up, Sansa could see their red glow reflected in the priestess’ eyes. She glanced sideways at Sam whose normally genial face was tight with anxiety. She reached out to squeeze his hand and mouthed words of thanks.

The air had become moist and heavy. Dark clouds invaded the previously tranquil sky and the wind was rapidly gaining strength. Night appeared to have fallen and yet the moon had not dared show its face. Instead, the North Star beckoned as it glowed with the intensity of a thousand suns in the pitch black sky. And in the distance she could swear she heard the distant rumble of thunder. 

Melisandre raised her hands high, her red cloak flapping in the wind. 

“We are gathered here to banish darkness”, she began, “for the night is dark and full of terrors while the day is bright and beautiful and full of hope”.

Sansa gazed steadily at Jon’s body while Melisandre raised high a steaming goblet.

“I compel the power of R’hllor to release from death he who was promised”, she chanted. The ruby at her throat pulsated like a red beacon. She brought the cup to her lips and drank deeply. 

The snow began to fall softly, almost aimlessly at first. Then, as Melisandre tossed the goblet to the ground, the snow began to intensify. Sansa saw a flash of light beyond the trees and resounding clap of thunder a few minutes later. She pulled her hood closer around her face to shield her against the now driving snow. 

The shadows on the walls danced manically as the flames roared higher. Melisandre mounted the bier and sat astride the dead man’s chest. Her red hair swirled around her head as she leaned down to cup Jon’s face with her hands.

“I deliver fire, the gift of life”, she breathed as she delivered a kiss upon his cold dead lips. Then she sat up again and raised her arms to the blackened sky. 

“Rise up, Lord Snow”, she shouted above the screech of the wind, “for you are the Lord’s chosen one, his warrior of fire”.

Sansa held her breath in anticipation.

It was imperceptible at first, her view obscured by the snowstorm raging around them, but as Sansa drew closer to him she swore she could see small wisps of steam rising from Jon’s frozen body.

She turned to Sam.

“You must fetch him now”, she hissed. Sam nodded and hurried away. 

She continued to draw closer. The red woman lowered her gaze to meet Sansa’s eyes.

“There is life”, she declared triumphantly as she drew Sansa’s attention to Jon’s right hand where a single finger began to twitch.

Sansa stared, scarcely believing what she was witnessing. Jon’s other fingers began to move slightly and his feet started to sway. She rushed towards him and snatched up his hand as the red priestess climbed down from the bier. The hand was still cold but it throbbed with life.

“Where is the wolf?” asked Melisandre as she looked around the yard expectantly. 

“The maester has gone to fetch him from the nursery”, replied Sansa as she impatiently pushed away a stray lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes. 

Breathe, Jon, breathe, she silently willed him. 

She heard Sam shout her name. When she looked up she saw him returning with Ghost at his heels. 

“Hurry, Sam!” she yelled back. 

They trotted across the yard, Sam with his head lowered against the force of the wind and snow. 

“Does he live?” puffed Sam.

“I…I don’t know. His limbs move but I have yet to see his lungs fill with air”, replied Sansa. 

The red woman grabbed Sansa’s hand and placed it on her husband’s chest. 

“Can you feel the life returning to him now?” Melisandre asked, her eyes fixed on Sansa’s. “Can you feel his body gradually thawing as the power of R’hllor breathes new life into him?”

Sansa closed her eyes and focused on the small movements in Jon’s chest. She thrilled when she finally felt the gentle swell under the palm of her hand as his body took its first hesitant breath.

She laid her head on his chest and listened to the faint beating of his heart. She stood up, grabbed Ghost by his ruff and leaned down to look into the direwolf’s eyes.

“It’s time, Jon. Your body needs you”, she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She felt Ghost shiver uncontrollably for a fleeting moment before she heard Jon cough as he sucked in a lungful of air.

Her hand flew to her mouth and she began to laugh and cry simultaneously. She took Jon’s hand and held it to her breast and leaned over him to whisper in his ear.

“Can you feel my heart beat, my love? I swear it’s going a mile a minute”, she murmured.

After a few seconds she saw his eyelids flutter open. But then her heart sank when his eyes looked vacant and unfocused as they stared unblinking at the sky until he slowly turned towards her.

“Sansa”, he whispered hoarsely. He ran his tongue over his dry, chapped lips. 

“Sansa”, he repeated after clearing his throat, “I told you I’d come back”.


	35. Chapter 35

They half dragged him into the kitchen as his legs were still somewhat stiff and unyielding. 

“Water”, he croaked as they set him down on a chair. “My throat burns”.

Sansa placed a goblet of water in his shaky hands. He raised it to his lips, two-fisted, slopping the water down his chin and chest as he drank it in greedily. Then he choked and vomited up some of the water. Sam patted him firmly on the back while Sansa knelt down in front of him.

“Take it slowly, Jon”, she said. He began to shiver violently and his teeth chattered. 

Sansa straightened up and spoke to the kitchen maid cowering in a corner. 

“Go to Lord Snow’s chambers and fetch him clean, dry clothes”, she commanded the young girl. 

The girl remained frozen in place, her face a mask of fear. The cook, exasperated by the girl’s inertia, turned to her and chucked her under the chin.

“He’s not a bloody wight, girl”, she admonished the maid. “Get on with you”. 

The girl lowered her eyes and scurried from the kitchen. While they awaited her return, Sansa and Sam helped peel off Jon’s damp clothes while the cook stoked the fire until it roared. As she removed his shirt, Sansa gasped when she saw that his upper back and shoulders were covered with black and blue bruises. 

“Oh, Jon”, she cried out with dismay, “did they beat you?”

Jon looked confused.

“I…I don’t recall any of them striking me…”he replied as he unconsciously reached up to rub his left shoulder.

“It’s called lividity, Sansa”, intervened Sam quietly. “It happens when the blood no longer circulates through the body after death. Instead it pools in one spot. I expect the marks will fade over time”.

The maid returned with a change of clothing and was dismissed immediately with instructions to make arrangements to prepare a hot bath for Jon and a make up a room for Melisandre.

Then Sansa wrapped warm blanket around Jon’s shoulders once he was dressed in the fresh clothes while the cook tried to coax him to drink some mulled wine.

As they fussed over him, Melisandre rose and stood next to the fire. 

“Do you remember the circumstances that led up to your death, my lord?” she inquired.

“Jon, you don’t have to…” intervened Sansa. Jon shook his head and set the goblet of wine on the table.

“We rode for what felt like hours with Ghost loping behind us and the North Star constantly within our sights. Eventually we arrived at a cave, the mouth of which was illuminated by the star. I could see brilliant blue crystals lining the walls. And in each facet I could see my face multiplied a hundred times. Then they dragged me deeper into the cave which was dank and dark as night. All around I could hear cracking noises echoing through the chamber”, he said.

He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath.

“They brought me to the edge of a precipice. I could hear water rushing below, the damp rising and seeping into my bones. The air was filled with a cold, penetrating mist…so cold that it almost felt like I was being showered with ice crystals. And as I stood there imprisoned between two of them, with my heels hanging over the edge, balanced on the edge of oblivion, I was being silently watched by a set of malevolent blue eyes glowing in the gloom”.

“Did they ever speak?” asked Sansa.

Jon shook his head.

“I may have been blind at that point but I could see that they never intended to discuss terms…it was clear they brought me there to kill me”, he continued. “And if I thought that my death would bring an end to this bloody conflict then I would have willingly sacrificed myself for the good of the realm. For what is one life worth compared to millions of innocents. Instead my death was meant to rectify an oversight because I should have died with Daenerys and the dragons”.

“Oh, Jon…”murmured Sansa. 

“I could feel their cool disregard for me as if I was an irritating fly that would take one blow to eradicate. So I silently prayed to the old gods for succor and knew they had answered me when I sensed Ghost’s presence in the cave. And when I realized that I could smell the fear wafting from my body before they gave it that final shove I knew that I had slipped into his skin. Once we saw it fall we turned tail and ran out the cave as fast as we could. We didn’t even wait to hear the splash”, he concluded. 

He turned to Sansa.

“I don’t know how I ended up in the pond in the godswood nor how you knew to find me there”, he said with a slight shake of his head.

“I know”, said Melisandre firmly. She turned away from the fireplace and stood behind Jon’s chair. 

“ My lady…your message through your maester indicated that in return for my services you would be prepared to offer whatever terms I demand”, she continued. “You were meant to be found and resurrected to fulfill a prophecy, Lord Snow. The Lord of Light has great need of you so when the time comes I insist that you heed his call”.

“How will we know when and what that is?” asked Sansa looking up at her with a mixture of fear and curiosity on her face.

“You’ll know”, replied Melisandre.


	36. Chapter 36

“I assume everything is in working order?” asked Sansa as she pulled her nightrail over her head and tossed it on the end of the bed.

Jon glanced under the furs for a second before Sansa slid under them. 

“I am happy to report that everything is at attention and awaiting your inspection”, he replied with a cheeky grin.

She leaned over him and kissed him hungrily on the lips while her hand slid down to his groin. 

“Oh, my…” she purred as she stroked his engorged shaft, “very impressive, indeed”.

He reached up to run his fingers through her burnished hair and then leaned over to gently bite her shoulder. 

She raised an eyebrow.

“I believe spending so much time inside Ghost’s skin has influenced you more than I realized”, she observed. 

He growled at her before flipping her on her back. She sighed as he nosed his way between her breasts and swirled his tongue around her erect nipples. She moaned as he nipped at the soft flesh under her breasts and traced his tongue down to her belly.

He took a deep intake of breath.

“Gods I love the smell of you, Sansa”, he declared. “I swear all my senses are on fire”. 

He slipped his hands beneath her buttocks and ran his tongue along her inner thigh. She breathed in small hitches as he parted her curls and pressed her clit with his finger. Then he lowered himself on to his belly and tugged her legs on to his shoulders.

“You’re so beautiful, Sansa…the most beautiful woman I know”, he murmured as he circled her mound with his tongue. She jerked at the sensation and grabbed at his hair with both fists. Then he licked at that little button of desire relentlessly while she bucked and moaned. He slid two crooked fingers into her and then a third. She arched her back with a long sigh. She could barely control her breathing as she could feel the heat building in her groin. 

“Come for me, sweetheart”, he urged her until she finally climaxed with an exhausted cry. 

He rose up to smooth aside her hair and whisper in her ear.

“I want to take you from behind”, he said as he kissed her snowy neck.

“Mmm...you really are a wolf tonight”, she murmured as she rolled over on to her belly. She rose up on all fours and guided him in. He grasped her hips in his large hands until he was deep inside of her. Then he reached around her thigh to stroke her clit as he moved slowly in and out.

She rapidly shuddered to another climax with a happy cry. Jon then picked up speed until finally finding his own release.

He leaned over her panting quietly. Then he straightened up and let out a loud howl like a wolf baying at the moon. 

Sansa shushed him with a laugh and then shoved him on to the bed.

“Ghost will be jealous”, she warned him.

“Let him find his own mate”, said Jon as he grabbed her hand and tenderly kissed it. “I’ve already found mine”.

Then they curled up together, limb over limb and nose to nose, and fell asleep like two pups that were inseparable.

They awoke just as the sun was peeking over the horizon. Sansa went to the nursery to tend to Lyra while Jon retreated to his own chambers to wash and dress. He arrived in the nursery as Sansa was feeding their daughter and offered to take Torrhen down for breakfast and then out for a walk. 

They returned after Sansa had finished her own breakfast, their faces ruddy and smelling of pine needles. 

“We found a fox den filled with some newly born kits. One of them dared to venture outside for a few minutes until it started crying for its mother”, said Jon. Torrhen dropped to the floor on to his hands and knees and mewled as a demonstration for his own mother. Sansa laughed with delight while Jon scooped him up and gave him a hug.

After a few minutes, Torrhen was turned over to his nursemaid’s care. Jon accompanied Sansa as far as her solar. 

“Perchance have you seen Melisandre this morning?” asked Sansa with her hands fiddling with the buttons at his neck. He reached up to cover her hands with his own. 

“The men said she left without a word before dawn this morning”, he replied. 

Sansa frowned.

“That’s very odd”, she commented.

“She’s a very odd woman”, breathed Jon as he leaned in to kiss her brow.

Sansa patted his cheek and turned to open the door. But Jon caught her hand before she entered the room.

“Just one more thing before I forget again”, he said as she whirled around to face him, “do you know where Longclaw is? I’ve searched my rooms and the armory and nobody recalls seeing it”.

Sansa’s face fell.

“Oh, Jon”, she replied, “I don’t know where it is. It wasn’t with your body when we recovered it”.

Jon expressed disappointment at the news.

“I…I’ll have the blacksmith forge me a new one then as soon as possible”, he grumbled, “…although nothing will ever be as good as Longclaw”. 

They parted ways with Jon off to supervise some repairs while Sansa retreated to review the accounts with Sam.

As she dictated to Sam a list of supplies required to purchase, they were interrupted by a knock at the door. It was a young wildling boy who stood in the doorway looking anxious.

“Beg your pardon, milady”, he stammered, “but me mam told me to fetch you. She said that the red witch has returned and it looks like there’s a barney brewing between the woman and Lord Snow”.

Sansa and Sam looked at each other with surprise and then followed the young boy to the yard. There they discovered Melisandre, her eyes gleaming, brandishing Longclaw while Jon held out his hand to her. 

“Where did you find it?” asked Jon reaching for the sword.

Melisandre stepped back a few feet and straightened up. She still carried the sword aloft.

“The Lord of Light led me to it…to the cave where they killed you”, she replied, her eyes darting about as men approached her from all sides. She swung the sword around defensively and the men stopped moving. Jon motioned them back.

“Will you give it back to me then?” asked Jon calmly before taking a few hesitant steps towards her. 

Melisandre nodded but she gestured to him to halt.

“I will…but it must be tempered first”, she replied. Jon looked confused.

“My lady…the sword is of Valyrian steel…it was tempered many years ago”, he answered. “Please, you need to return it to me now”.

Melisandre shook her head and slid her naked hands from the hilt to the blade. The sharp steel bit into the palms and fingers of her hands. Blood began to flow in rivulets down the front of her gown and pooled at her feet. She closed her eyes and muttered a few incomprehensible words before aiming the point of the sword at her breast.

“Jon!” screamed Sansa. “Stop her!”

Jon lunged at her but it was too late. She plunged the sword into her chest and sank slowly to her knees. 

Jon grabbed her before she collapsed to the ground. The light was slowly fading from her eyes. She stared at Jon’s face and uttered a short, bitter laugh. Blood gurgled up and spilled from the corners of her mouth.

“The Lord of Light has chosen his champion, Azor Ahai”, she whispered. “Promise me my sacrifice was not in vain”.


	37. Chapter 37

Sansa stood behind Jon for what felt like an eternity while he cradled the dead woman in his arms. She watched the crows warily as they congregated one by one on the blood spattered snow, their beady eyes bright with anticipation. She leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“Jon”, she said as she laid a hand on his shoulder, “we need to remove the body”.

She felt him stiffen and then he looked up at her with such wounded eyes that her breath caught in her throat. I will never begin to understand their relationship, she thought, but clearly there was a depth to it that I never realized. 

Sam reached down and grasped Longclaw with both hands and wrenched it free from the red woman’s chest. The blood oozed slowly from the open wound and then froze. Sam then passed the sword to one of the men with instructions to have it cleaned and returned to Lord Snow’s chambers.

Jon gently laid the body on the ground and rose to his feet. Then he gave Sam a hard glance before bending down to slip his arms under Melisandre to lift her up. 

“Jon…” protested Sam as he gestured to the two men standing nearby ready to retrieve the body.

“No”, replied Jon vehemently, “she’s my responsibility”. 

And the guilt over her death, feared Sansa, will forever be his burden.

He carried her into the ice house and laid her on the same slab where his own body had lain only days before.

Sansa and Sam stood quietly off to the side as he tenderly closed the woman’s eyes and rearranged her arms across her breast to cover the wound. 

“Jon…” said Sam haltingly.

Jon turned to him.

“I expect you’re pleased now”, snarled Jon. “You never did approve of her”.

Sam flushed and held up his hands in a placating manner.

“Jon, that’s not fair”, said Sam hoarsely. “I know I didn’t believe in her and her…ways. But I never wished her dead, especially by her own hand”.

“Jon”, said Sansa sharply, “I know you’re grieving but that is no excuse to lash out at Sam”.

Jon stood silently for a minute or two, his eyes blazing and his nostrils flaring. He struggled to control his emotions before awkwardly sticking out his hand to Sam.

“I’m sorry, my friend”, he mumbled. “That was uncalled for. Forgive me?”

Sam gripped his hand in return and laid the other on Jon’s forearm. 

“Always”, replied Sam with a small smile.

Sansa placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder and pulled him close.

“We’ll give her a worthy send off”, she reassured him.

As they walked back to the castle, Sansa looped her arm through Jon’s and leaned in close.

“Jon, who is Azor Ahai and why did she call you by that name?” she asked.

Jon swallowed before replying. 

“Azor Ahai is a legendary hero of Asshai”, he said with some hesitation. “She once believed that Stannis was the man reborn”.

Sansa faltered in her steps. 

“Tell me more”, she insisted.

“Melisandre declared that as the resurrected hero, Stannis was destined to be the Lord of Light’s champion when a cold darkness descended upon the world after a long summer. It was prophesied that Azor Ahai alone would stand against the Others and that darkness would flee before him”, he continued.

“When did she start believing that it was you instead of Stannis?” she asked quietly.

“When I was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch”, he replied. “But none of that is important now. It was just another of her pointless prophecies”.

Sansa stopped short and yanked on his arm.

“Jon, the woman just killed herself believing you to be the resurrection of this legendary hero so I hardly think it pointless. Why did she find it necessary to die by your sword?” she asked. 

Jon shook his head and looked down at his feet.

“I don’t know”, he replied.

Never mind, thought Sansa, Sam will know.

She found Sam making arrangements to have a bier assembled. She pulled him aside. 

“Tell me more about the legend of Azor Ahai...in particular his sword”, she inquired. 

Sam raised his eyes to the sky as he searched his memory. 

“I recall Melisandre calling the sword Lightbringer. As the story goes, Azor Ahai made two abortive attempts to temper the sword until finally he drove it into the beating heart of his wife Nissa Nissa. It was then that Lightbringer was created…a fusion of steel and soul, the Red Sword of Heroes”, he answered, the sad realization dawning on his face.

“Do you think it’s possible?” he whispered. “I know I have always been her biggest detractor but lately I have witnessed enough to completely turn my belief system on its head”.

Sansa shook her head.

“It doesn’t really matter what we believe”, she replied. “What is more important is that Jon has no faith in the prophecy. And yet…what if he is wrong?”


	38. Chapter 38

As the light began to fade, a small crowd began to gather outside for the ceremony. Many of the free folk had come to watch the red witch burn with the grim satisfaction of knowing that the woman who had burned their own king alive was now gone. Others came in hope of seeing the woman resurrect herself and rise from her burning bed of straw and twigs. This, they decided, was a spectacle not to be missed. 

Jon stood beside the bier with his head bowed and his hands clasped loosely together. Melisandre’s body lay on the bier, as pale in death as she was in life. Jon gestured for silence from the onlookers. 

“Grant, oh Lord of Light”, he spoke as he raised his arms slowly, “your faithful servant, Melisandre, eternal rest and peace as we consign her body to the flames. May your perpetual light shine upon her”.

Then he lowered his hands and stared at the corpse briefly before nodding to the torchbearer who stood nearby.

As the bier was lit, Sansa watched the flames slowly lick at the wood frame and the black smoke drifting in the breeze. She could smell the scent of pine from the boughs that served as tinder.

She felt Torrhen tug on her hand. She turned and knelt down so that he could whisper in her ear.

“Papa sad”, he said as he pointed at his mournful father. Sansa nodded. 

“Mayhaps you could comfort him”, she suggested.

Torrhen stood with uncertainty clouding his face until Sansa gave him an encouraging smile and a gentle push. He toddled over to Jon and took his father’s hand, patting it gently. Jon managed a small smile and bent down to kiss the top of his son’s head. Then they stood silently together, hand in hand, their solemn faces lit up by the funeral pyre.

As the heat built up and the flames climbed higher, Sansa noticed subtle changes in Melisandre’s visage. Her face, so youthful in life, had begun to age visibly. Sansa could see the crows’ feet emanating from her closed eyes and the lines forming around her mouth. Her cheeks began to sink and her jowls started to sag. Then the ruby that hung from her neck pulsated with life for a few seconds before fading into darkness. Within minutes the whole bier was consumed by fire.

As the skies darkened and the flames dwindled the crowds began to disperse. Sansa could see that Torrhen was starting to sag with fatigue. Jon must have sensed it, too, because he reached down to hoist his son up. Torrhen threw his arms around his father’s neck and laid a weary head against his shoulder. Within minutes his eyes drooped and his lips parted in slumber.

Sansa sidled up to Jon’s side and slipped her arm around his waist. She raised herself up on tiptoes as he leaned down to give her a kiss and murmur thank you.

“You’re welcome”, she whispered back.

The evening meal was subdued. While Sansa chatted with the other diners, Jon sat brooding in silence. Sam had been conspicuously absent from the funeral ceremony and now had not appeared for the meal. Sansa leaned over and tapped Jon on the arm.

“He really has forgiven you”, she said in a low voice.

“I know”, replied Jon while absentmindedly pushing his food around his plate. She placed a gentle hand over his to still it.

“There is a plate of food prepared for him in the kitchen”, she said. “Why don’t you take it up to him and stay …to talk”.

She could see his eyes brighten. Then he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. She caught his hand before he left.

“I’ll join you both later”, she said conspiratorially. “The three of us have some things to discuss”.

After the children had been fed and put to bed, Sansa made her way to the maester’s tower. As she approached the Sam’s door she could hear the low rumble of laughter. Her heart lightened with the belief that they were on the road to repairing their friendship. Jon’s relationship with Melisandre had strained their friendship to the brink at times over the past two years. Mercifully, with her death, she hoped that they could become the united front they once were.

As she entered the room she could see that although the food on Sam’s plate had only been partially eaten, several skins of wine had certainly been consumed. Sansa sighed inwardly. Clearly now was not the time for any serious discussion. 

They both raised their goblets of wine as she planted herself on her favourite chair. 

“To my beautiful and understanding wife”, saluted Jon. 

“Here, here”, slurred Sam in agreement.

She rolled her eyes as they both broke down in guffaws.

Sam poured Sansa a goblet of wine which she raised to her lips and sipped slowly.

“And here’s to Lord Commander Mormont…may he rest in eternal peace”, declared Sam as he gulped down another mouthful.

“The Old Bear”, mumbled Jon into his cup.

Oh gods, thought Sansa, they’ll be drunkenly reciting their Night’s Watch vows next. 

“Gentlemen”, she said setting the goblet aside and rising to her feet. “I leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening. I have had a very long and eventful day so I bid you both good night”. 

Jon rose unsteadily to his feet and swayed briefly before planting a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek. She smiled sweetly at the pair of them before leaving them to their revelry.

She paused at the door when she heard Jon unsheathing Longclaw amidst peals of laughter. Oh no, she thought soberly, there will be no inebriated waving of swords this evening. As she turned to put a stop to any dangerous shenanigans she heard Sam’s voice pipe up.

“Jon, I know I’m drunk…but I swear I have never seen Longclaw glow red before”, he said with a hiccup.


	39. Chapter 39

Jon fixed his eyes on the sword as he twisted it back and forth. 

“It definitely emits a red glow. But it’s not constant…only intermittent”, he said as he returned the sword to its scabbard. 

Sansa looked up from her embroidery. 

“How does it make you feel knowing you might be the reincarnation of Azor Ahai?” she asked with a smile playing on her lips.

Jon made a face as he plopped down on a nearby chair.

“Honestly? I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel”, he sighed. He buried his face in his hands for a few seconds before looking up bleary-eyed.

“Ask me again when my head stops pounding”, he added.

Sansa resumed her stitching while trying not to laugh.

Jon rose again when he heard the knocking at the door.

“You sent for me?” asked Sam, leaning on the door frame. He looked worse than Jon. His eyes were bloodshot, his mouth hung open slackly and spittle clung to his beard. 

After he followed Jon into the room and sat down next to him, Sansa pushed a tray of sweets towards Sam. 

“Lemon cakes?” she asked pleasantly.

Sam looked uncomfortable. 

“Perhaps later”, he replied. “I’m experiencing some digestive upset just now”.

Sansa sat back and decided it was time to stop tormenting the two of them and get down to the business at hand. 

“I’ve decided to call the banners”, she announced without preamble. “The northern lords need to stop hiding behind the walls of their keeps. The dragons are finished…there will be no divine intervention by some fiery creature descending from the firmament. The cold reality is that the realm has abandoned us. And since they will not send men and provisions to help us then we will have to rescue ourselves from the unchecked advances of the Others”.

“Besides the northern lords”, she continued, “I will reach out to my cousin, Robert, and my Uncle Edmure to send help. Also, I will instruct Edmure to send the Blackfish to Greywater Watch to seek support from the Reeds. He is likely the only living person outside of Greywater who knows how to find Howland Reed”.

She directed her gaze at Sam.

“Are you willing to reach out to your brother, Dickon, for help from Horn Hill?” she asked. 

Sam swallowed and nodded.

“Now that our father is dead I believe we can speak to one another again”, he replied hoarsely.

Her face softened.

“Tell him to send whatever he can…his future as well as ours depends on it”, she said. 

She turned to Jon.

“You will remind the Iron Bank that they have a significant stake already in this war. If they want to see a return on their investment then they had better make sure that we are properly funded for the long night ahead”.

Jon nodded and reached out to take her hand.

“What about Dorne?” he asked softly.

Sansa stiffened in surprise. Her initial response had been to ask who in sunny, southern Dorne would care enough to send help to the besieged inhabitants of bleak, northern Westeros. Then it dawned on her and jealousy rose like bile in her throat.

“Arianne”, she spat out. “I didn’t realize you still spoke to her”. 

“I don’t”, he replied defensively. “I haven’t since we left Kings Landing”.

Jon and Sansa met Arianne Martell not long after their engagement had been announced. They had travelled to Kings Landing at the behest of crown to discuss a number of issues affecting both the north and the south. Jon’s curiosity about the country of his birth led to long conversations with the beautiful and sultry princess of Dorne.

As soon as they passed through the city gates, all the horrible memories of the city that Sansa hoped were buried forever came bubbling to the surface…the almost daily beatings, her father’s death and her forced marriage to the king’s uncle. This led to sleepless nights and troubled days.

Sansa’s insecurities eroded her self-confidence and her trust in Jon. She grew irrationally jealous of the more cool and composed Arianne and her easy way with men, especially Jon. When she confronted him about her fears he was initially taken aback by her confession. But then he surprised her.

“We’ll take our leave tomorrow”, he said. “I will make the arrangements this evening”. 

They left the next morning, never, she hoped, to return. 

But now, in the face of imminent danger, she realized that she needed to put away her petty and unwarranted emotions. 

“Just ignore me, Jon…her name alone evokes feelings in me that I’m not proud of. Arianne is a powerful and influential woman. And we need all the support we can get. Tell her…tell her to speak to Myrcella on our behalf. Maybe Myrcella can convince that childish brother of hers to stop disregarding our pleas for help”, she replied with contrition.

“He’s childish, Sansa, because he is still a child”, responded Jon leaning forward, “easily controlled by his mad, manipulative mother and his murderous, overbearing grandfather”.

Sansa snorted in exasperation. 

“And that is why children should not be allowed to ascend to the throne”, she said with disgust in her voice. “What good is a ruler who spends his days playing with his cats and goes to bed before nightfall because he’s afraid of the dark? Myrcella needs to tell him to grow a pair”. 

Jon and Sam exchanged looks of amusement. Then they both rose to take their leave to attend to their respective tasks.

Sansa retreated to the glass gardens to restore balance to her emotions. When Sam found her she was elbow deep in muck. He waved a piece of paper in her direction.

“Read it to me”, she said, blowing at an errant tendril of hair that had fallen in her face. 

“It’s from Jon Connington”, he began.

“I thought he was dead”, interrupted Sansa.

Sam gave her a look before continuing.

“He says that recently he had been hearing complaints of a fearsome winged creature stealing livestock near his home on Griffin’s Roost. He finally sent an envoy to investigate who returned to confirm the sighting of a large, green dragon”.


	40. Chapter 40

“You know I’m right”, insisted Jon. 

Sansa let out a long, slow breath and looked up at him. His eyes glittered in the brilliant sunshine and water vapour escaped from his nostrils like puffs of steam.

“Indulge me for a minute”, she said drily. “Let me believe that we could accomplish this without the aid of a dragon”.

He smiled and wrapped his arms around her.

“It won’t be the unmitigated disaster that was the first campaign”, he assured her. 

“How can you be so sure?” she asked as she pulled back slightly from his embrace.

His fingertips rested lightly on her cheek.

“Because this time we are going to do my way”, he replied firmly.

She shook her head ruefully as they continued to walk together hand in hand into the denser part of the woods until Sansa found a suitable tree. Jon produced a knife and began to cut off branches of fragrant cedar while Sansa held a small blanket underneath to catch the falling boughs. When she decided that they had enough she bundled up the blanket, picked the small bits of foliage out of Jon’s hair and then they trudged towards home, the snow crunching under their boots. 

The boughs were for a feast that Sansa was planning. 

“What’s the occasion?” Jon had asked. 

Sansa hesitated before replying. 

“Lyra’s birth, Torrhen’s nameday, your homecoming, your rebirth…take your pick. Do we really need an excuse to gather together and eat too much food and drink too much ale, especially when the nights are long and bitter and our enemies are at the gates?” she answered.

“Well, when you put it that way…”he chuckled. 

“I’m tired of living each day as if it might be my last”, said Sansa in frustration as she stopped and dropped the bundle to the ground. 

She stooped down to pick up a handful of snow. 

“I need to feel like a child again with my whole future laid out before me. I need to feel lighthearted…full of hope with grandiose ideas and dreams of better things to come”, she sighed as she tossed the snowball she had formed at the trunk of a nearby tree. 

Jon gave her a look of sympathy as he pulled her in closer. Then he slyly slipped some snow down the back of her cloak. Sansa shrieked while clawing at the snow as it started to melt and slide down the back of her neck.

“Jon”, she sputtered, “I swear to all the gods that I will get you for this”. 

“You’ll have to catch me first”, he shouted as he scooped up more snow before sprinting behind a tree. 

They dodged in behind trees and bushes, pelting snowballs at each other until Jon, panting heavily, called a truce. Then he knelt down on one knee before her and bowed his head. 

“I pledge fealty to the victor”, he said in mock reverence with a hand held to his chest. Then he raised his face to meet her imperious gaze.

“I await my fate”, he said solemnly.

“Then so be it”, giggled Sansa as she washed his face with a handful of snow. Jon grimaced as he wiped the icy slush from his face. Then she knelt down before him to help brush away the snow from his chest and shoulders.

“Thank you”, she whispered. He leaned forward and gave her a tender kiss. Then he rose to his feet and held out his hands to help her up.

“I can’t promise us a brighter future, Sansa”, he said as he retrieved the bundle of cedar boughs. “But I can promise you that I won’t stop trying”. 

The kitchen was abuzz with preparations for the feast. They parted company in the corridor outside with Sansa heading to the great hall to supervise the setting up of the tables while Jon found his way to the maester’s tower to confer with Sam. 

Sansa was tying the last of the cedar arrangements with ribbon when Jon entered the room bearing a message.

“Alys sends her warmest regards”, he announced. “She just recently gave birth to another son”.

“Sigorn must be feeling very proud”, she said as she smoothed out the tablecloth. “How many men can they send?”

“Alys promises us at least a thousand men and most likely more. Sigorn is currently drumming up support among the mountain clans to follow him”, he said. He chuckled as he read further.

“Alys says that Sigorn’s rallying cry is that The Ned’s little girl needs them to follow her if they want to survive this long winter”, he reported. 

It warmed Sansa’s heart knowing that the rugged clans of the northwest still held her father and her family in such high esteem. She mentally counted up the number of men and woman who were pledged to follow Jon when he ventured north again.

“That’s just over six thousand strong so far”, she concluded. “Do you think it will be enough?”

Jon frowned. 

“We have yet to hear from the crannogmen but they have always pledged fealty to the Starks. Once the Blackfish finds them then we should have a final tally”, he replied. 

The revelries began shortly after sundown with people putting down their tools and gradually drifting in to participate in the festivities. The relentless cold and darkness was banished for the evening as the tables were festooned with many lit candles and brightly coloured decorations. 

After stuffing their faces with too much food and drink, the tables were pushed to the edges of the room and the dancing began. Anybody who possessed a musical instrument was urged to dust if off and accompany the small band of musicians.

Amidst the roars of laughter and the thumping of feet, Sansa hummed as she swayed in time to the music with Torrhen resting on her hip. She felt a light tap on her shoulder.

“May I have this dance, my lady?” asked Jon, bowing slightly.

“You may, ser, as it appears my current partner has had enough dancing for tonight”, she replied. Torrhen was flushed and his eyes were heavy with sleep as he reached out to his father with a little whimper.

Jon took his son in his arms.

“Methinks it’s time for you to join your sister, little man”, he said as Torrhen collapsed against his father’s shoulder. Sansa gave Torrhen a kiss good night before Jon bundled him out of the hall and off to bed. 

Jon returned a short time later to lead Sansa in a couple of reels and a waltz before they took to the sidelines, tapping their feet, to survey the scene of the passed out, the nodding off and the still going strong. 

As the merriment began to die down, Sansa organized the clean up while Jon supervised putting the furniture back in place and packing the drunkards off to bed. As the last vestiges of the feast had been swept away, one of the guards approached them both. 

“Milady, milord…there is a party of very curious looking men at the gate requesting admittance”, he reported.

Sansa wrinkled her brow and Jon frowned. 

“At this hour?” complained Sansa. “Are they refugees seeking sanctuary?”

The guard shook his head.

“No, milady”, he replied. “The older gentleman who speaks for them said to tell you both that Lord Howland Reed has arrived, as requested”.


	41. Chapter 41

“My lord, I confess that we did not expect you so soon,” exclaimed Sansa as she held out her hands in greeting. “I sent the Blackfish to get a message to you”. 

He smiled beatifically at her as he took her hands in his. 

“I know, my dear. We have been on the march for nigh on six weeks, slowed down occasionally by the winter snows, in anticipation of your call”, he explained. “I knew the time had come to crawl out of the swamp and get back on to solid ground”.

He shivered slightly despite his heavy furs. 

“I’m sorry, my lord. The shock of seeing you so soon has made me ungracious. Please sit by the fire. May I offer you food and drink?”

The little man shrugged off his heavy vestments and pulled up a chair.

“A little mulled wine would be most welcome on such a cold night”, he replied as he smacked his lips, his hands hovering near the flames for warmth. 

Sansa sent word to the kitchen and then sat down next to the mysterious man who hadn’t been seen outside the Neck since the end of Robert’s Rebellion.

She knew that Howland Reed had saved her father’s life in the Tower of Joy. Other than that she knew very little about him as her father had always been very closed-mouthed about the circumstances surrounding his sister’s death. 

When the door opened she thought it was one of the serving girls returning with the wine. Instead, it was Jon standing in the doorway with a tray of steaming goblets. The crannogman jumped up and uttered an oath upon seeing him. 

“Sorry, lad”, he apologized, “it’s like gazing upon Ned’s ghost seeing you standing there”. 

Jon kicked the door closed and laid the tray on a table.

“I’m Jon Snow”, he said as he stuck out his hand to the older man.

The little man shook it effusively.

“I knew who you were the minute I clapped eyes on you. Your mother…your mother holds a very special place in my heart”, he said sincerely. He stood back and examined Jon’s face more closely.

“She was a very clever and compassionate woman, your mother…wild and beautiful. You’ve got her look”, he murmured. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I can also smell the sulphur in your blood, son”, he said as he opened his eyes. “I’ve heard tales of you riding a dragon?”

Jon smiled and nodded.

“All true”, he replied.

“I was there in Harrenhal on the day your parents met”, recalled Howland. “After Rhaegar won the tourney, we were all aghast when he proclaimed Lya, a mere slip of a girl, the queen of love and beauty over his own wife”.

“Do you…do you think they loved each other?” asked Jon cautiously.

Howland gazed at the fire for a few seconds before shaking his head.

“Who knows”, he replied sadly. “Your father was chasing a dream and your mother was hungering for adventure. I like to think that a kind of love grew between them…enough to produce you”.

Jon was silent for a minute before he spoke again.

“Can you tell me what happened in the Tower of Joy?” he asked bluntly.

Sansa turned to face him.

“Jon…please, Lord Reed must be so tired”, she admonished him. “Surely this can wait until the morning”.

Howland laughed and waved aside her concerns.

“It’s Howland, my dear”, he said, “and I really don’t mind taking the time to answer Jon’s questions now. However, it has been a good many years and the details are a little hazy but…here it is in a nutshell”.

Howland eyes flitted to Sansa before he began his story. 

“Your father believed that Rhaegar had kidnapped Lya and was holding her in the tower. When we approached the tower along with five others, we discovered it being guarded by three members of the Kingsguard, led by Gerold Hightower. Our losses were heavy but so were theirs. Your father dispatched Hightower while I engaged Oswell Whent. Then he turned to Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, possibly the best swordsman of his time. He and your father fought hard but he had your father cornered. But once I dispatched Whent, I flew to your father’s aid. Dayne went down heavily once I ran him through the back”.

Jon visibly winced at the thought of the great swordsman’s ignominious death. 

Howland shifted his gaze to Jon before continuing his tale.

“We found your mother dying upstairs. You were crying in your cot and the room stank of blood, feces and dying blue roses. Your wet nurse, Wylla, was weeping and trying to clean up your mother as best she could. But she and your mother knew that the childbed fever would soon overtake her. Your mother made your uncle promise to keep you safe from harm. She knew that if the truth of your existence were to ever come to light then word would reach Robert and you would be dead. It was then that your uncle made the decision to take you north and claim you as his own. Your mother…the gods her soul preserve…took her final breath once your uncle made this vow. I stayed to arrange to have the tower torn down by some local villagers and used the stones to create cairns under which the bodies were buried. During this time, your uncle insisted on journeying with you and Wylla to Starfall to deliver Dayne’s sword, Dawn, to his sister, Ashara. Wylla was at once sworn to secrecy and for a time served as your surrogate mother for she loved you so”.

He paused to take a sip of wine.

“I wanted him to leave you at Starfall under Ashara’s care. I gently reminded him that Dornish bastards are treated no differently than trueborn children. Ashara had recently lost her own child that had been fathered by your uncle, Brandon. She was devastated by the double loss and I like to believe that if you had been turned over to her care then she might still be alive today. But he intended to honour his promise to your mother. After he returned from Starfall, he collected your mother’s bones and we returned to Westeros. He returned to the north with a child, his dead sister and a false tale upon his lips while I retreated to my swampy home. And we never spoke of what happened again”.

The three of them sat in silence, staring into their cups, until Howland spoke again.

“So, who is the young maester that discovered the truth?” he asked curiously.

“That would be Samwell Tarly”, replied Sansa. “I had given him my father’s papers to sort and organize to be archived. He started to pick up on the little clues that he discovered in papers documenting Jon’s care. And then he was off like a hound dog which has caught the scent of fresh game”. 

“When we opened up my mother’s tomb and discovered the artifacts, we knew he had stumbled on to something true”, added Jon.

“Artifacts?” said Howland, his ears perking up. 

“My father’s silver-stringed harp and documentation pertaining to my birth”, replied Jon with a deep sigh. “My uncle obviously intended to tell me the truth one day”. 

Howland reached out and patted Jon’s arm.

“It must have been hard learning the truth, lad”, he said with sympathy.

“It was”, replied Jon. “I almost left Westeros because of it. That is…until Sansa convinced me to stay”.

She smiled as his hand crept around hers.

Howland beamed at the pair of them like an indulgent father.

“I can’t say that your mother would be pleased with your choice, Sansa”, he said, “but she might have come round upon learning that you had chosen a Targaryen prince”.

“Not a Targaryen, Lord…Howland”, corrected Jon, stumbling over addressing the older man by his first name. “I’m still a northern bastard with the surname, Snow, no matter who sired me”.

Howland shook his head and reached into the pocket of his vest. 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Jon”, he said as he produced a folded sheet of paper. “You are a Targaryen prince”.

He carefully unfolded the letter and handed it to Jon. Jon quickly scanned its contents while Sansa peered anxiously over his shoulder.

“What is it?” she asked.

Jon let the letter drop into his lap and sat there in stunned silence. Sansa snatched it up.

“Jon”, she said excitedly, “it’s a marriage contract signed by the High Septon himself. It attests to the union of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark”.


	42. Chapter 42

The tension in the room was broken by the sound of scratching and whining at the door. Sansa rose to admit the direwolf which trotted over to Jon’s side. Jon leaned over to scratch Ghost behind his ears.

“You know”, said Jon softly, “of all the identities I have had to assume over the years…son, loyal brother of the Night’s Watch, oath breaker, Lord Commander, husband and father…the one constant in my life has been my bastard status”. 

He stared sullenly at the letter and then looked up at Sansa. 

“I was always acutely aware from a very early age that I was a stain on your father’s honour. I was a daily nightmare to your mother; a reminder that her husband dared to lay with another woman and then had the temerity to raise the child of that union alongside his trueborn children. I recall overhearing an argument when I was around seven. Your mother begged your father to send me away, to be fostered as far away from Winterfell as possible. Your father loudly refused but he did promise that he would never petition the Crown to grant me legitimacy. This allayed her fears, knowing that I couldn’t take it all away from her own children. But it cut me to the quick knowing that I would remain a lowly bastard for the rest of my life”.

“Jon…” began Sansa with a catch in her voice. He reached out and gently took her hand and raised it to his lips. 

“It’s all right, my love”, he said softly, “she was right to worry”.

Jon uttered a short, bitter laugh before turning to Howland. 

“As Sansa knows, it turns out I was offered legitimacy twice in my life…once from Stannis and the other when Robb’s letter came to light. And both times I turned it down and not because I ceased to crave Winterfell…I knew that thirst could never be slaked…but because I knew that it could never belong to me. Winterfell has always belonged to the Starks and I knew, deep down, that I could never be one”.

Jon paused to take a swig of wine. Then he set the goblet down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before continuing.

“A very clever man once told me to wear my bastard status like armour so that it could never be used against me”, he said. “So I gradually learned to accept who I was and it made me more determined to earn the respect of others through deeds, not blood”.

He rested his hand on Ghost’s head as the direwolf sat loyally beside him. 

“When the secret came to light of my true parentage, it was like a shock wave that reverberated around my world and sent it crashing”, he said with a shake of his head. “Instantly I believed that all the gods had abandoned me”. 

Then he turned back to Sansa and reached out to give her hand a squeeze.

“Sansa helped me put the pieces of my world back together…but this time it was better”, he said. Sansa beamed at him while he continued.

“What…what my parents did cause me only grief and shame. When they ran away together they touched off a firestorm, the repercussions of which are still being felt today. I blame my father mostly because my mother was barely more than a child. I don’t know if he bore any guilt regarding the wife and two children he abandoned when he left. I don’t know if Elia knew he intended to take a second wife to fulfill some preposterous prophecy to have his children become the three heads of the dragon. But it all became moot when Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon were brutally murdered as a result of his folly”.

He picked up the document and held it up.

“This revelation changes nothing”, he said as he crumpled up the paper and tossed it on the fire. Sansa gasped and lunged forward to retrieve it from the flames but she was too late. The paper twisted and turned black while the orange flames consumed it. 

Howland chuckled and leaned back in his chair. He raised his goblet to Jon and then took a sip. 

“Nice speech, lad”, he said with relish. “But you didn’t seriously believe that slip of paper was the original, did you?”

Jon’s face darkened.

“The original resides at the Citadel where it awaits verification”, continued Howland. “And once it has been proved to be authentic, it won’t be long before word gets out that you are Rhaegar’s trueborn son. So…think on…forewarned is forearmed. There are many powerful and wealthy people who are vested in restoring the Targaryen dynasty and they will come a-courting”. 

“Why?” asked Jon urgently, gesturing to the flames. “Why bring this to me now?”

“Because it’s time to restore balance to this world which has been sadly off-kilter for too long now”, replied Howland. “And as Lyanna and Rhaegar’s trueborn son, the prince who was promised, all signs point to you as the one to lead us out of the darkness”. 

“Azor Ahai”, whispered Sansa. 

“What’s that you said, my dear?” asked Howland, wrinkling his aged brow. 

Sansa turned to him. 

“Melisandre claimed that Jon was the fulfillment of the prophecy, that of the reincarnation of an ancient hero who would defeat the Others and end the Long Night”, she explained. 

Howland looked perplexed.

“Stannis’ red woman…what has she got to do with this?” he asked.

“She killed herself with Jon’s sword to bring the prophecy to fruition”, said Sansa. “And now his sword flashes red”.

“Well…that is an interesting development”, commented Howland. “May I see it?”

Jon stood up and drew Longclaw from its scabbard. The blade flashed red in the firelight. Howland regarded it thoughtfully.

“May I?” he asked reaching for the sword.

Jon passed it to him and as soon as he let go the sword ceased to glow. Howland grinned and passed the sword back to Jon.

“Have you summoned that dragon yet?” he asked as he shrugged into his furs. “With your sword and that boy’s dragon the three of you will make a formidable foe”.

Jon and Sansa looked at him with surprise. Howland smiled and placed a finger at the corner of one eye and tugged on it.

“Greensight”, he said with a mischievous smile. 

“Unfortunately, when Melisandre died, the means to summon the dragon died with her,” replied Sansa. “But our maester thinks he may have pieced together the spell. He returns from her keep tomorrow”.

Howland nodded and turned towards the door.

“Thank you for your hospitality”, he said as he reached out to take both their hands. “And now it’s time to return to my men for the night. But I look forward to planning strategy with you tomorrow”.

They accompanied him as far as the gate and then bid him good night. As they crossed the yard, Sansa tucked her arm into Jon’s and whispered in his ear.

“Do you really believe that Sam has figured out how to summon Rhaegal?” she asked.

Jon turned and nodded. 

“I think he’s got it. And, if so, then he is only missing one critical ingredient”, he replied. Sansa stiffened in alarm.

“What would that be?” she inquired. 

“My blood”, said Jon cheerfully.


	43. Chapter 43

“How much?” asked Sam, gripping Jon’s arm with one hand and brandishing a knife with the other. “Do I need to open a vein?”

Jon looked alarmed. 

“She only took a few drops so a nick to a finger should suffice”, he replied quickly as he splayed his digits. 

“Right then…” replied Sam as he swiftly spliced open Jon’s third finger and tipped it over so that the blood dripped into the basin below. 

“You might have warned me first”, muttered Jon as he made a face. Sam grinned back at him.

“I find it easier this way”, he replied, “in, out…there…all done”. 

He passed Jon a piece of clean silk to wrap up his wounded finger.

“Would you like a sweetmeat?” asked Sam, his voice dripping with honey. “Sometimes I offer the children sweets when I treat their injuries”.

Jon gave him a withering look. 

“That won’t be necessary”, he replied blandly. Sansa tittered until Jon silenced her with a scowl.

“What now?” she asked as she peered over Jon’s shoulder at the unappetizing stew of blood and herbs in the basin. 

Sam picked up a small pouch and handed it to Sansa.

“On my command, I need you to sprinkle the powder inside this pouch over the contents of the basin”, he said as he reached for a smudge stick. Then he lit the stick using one of the wall torches and held it over the bowl. 

“Now”, he said. Sansa upturned the pouch and shook out the contents into the liquid. The mixture instantly began to bubble up and steam. Sam lowered the lit stick slowly until the contents of the basin caught fire.

Sansa recoiled in fear as the flames shot almost as high as the rafters. Jon grabbed her arm and pulled her to a safer distance. Only Sam remained in place, stock still, his eyes rolling to the top of his head. Small beads of sweat began to form on his forehead as he raised his arms, his face glowing red in the firelight. 

When he appeared to have slipped into a trancelike state, Sansa was tempted to shake him, to bring him back into the here and now but Jon grabbed her hand and shook his head.

“It’s part of the ritual, Sansa”, he warned. “If you disturb him then the spell will break”.

She pulled back and clutched at Jon’s arm. Sam lifted his face to the ceiling and opened his mouth and strange sounding words poured from his lips. Sansa strained to understand them but they sounded like gibberish to her ears. Jon leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“High Valyrian”, he explained.

The room began to fill with black, foul-smelling smoke. Sansa waved it about and coughed violently until Jon charged across the room to throw open the shutters. Sam continued to chant, oblivious to the choke-filled air, the pitch of his voice rising higher as the words spilled out at an increasingly rapid pace.

As the fire began to die back, Sam gradually lowered his arms and his speech slowed down to assume a more normal cadence. The contents of the basin were reduced to a greasy, black ooze with a few flames still dancing on the surface. Sansa coughed a few more times and then buried her face in Jon’s chest to try to escape the stench that seemed to permeate everything in the room.

“Sam!” yelled Jon. 

Sansa reeled around in time to see Sam sinking to his knees. When he hit the floor his limbs began to twitch violently and foam bubbled up on his lips.

“Jon”, she cried. “He’s having a fit. Protect his head before he injures himself”.

Jon rushed to Sam’s side and knelt down to cradle his friend’s head and neck while Sansa fetched a wet cloth. She hovered anxiously over Sam as his limbs flailed and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Jon looked up at her with fear in his eyes.

“She didn’t react this way when she cast the spell”, he said hoarsely. He struggled to keep Sam from banging the back of his head on the cold, stone floor. Sansa reached out tentatively to daub at Sam’s flushed face and wipe away the spittle that oozed from his mouth. Then she leaned over him.

“What should we do?” she asked. Jon shook his head helplessly. 

“We wait”, he replied. 

Jon hung on to him grimly until his movements gradually slowed down and he finally lay perfectly still. Sansa watched his chest continue to rise and fall while Jon loosened his grip on his head. Then Sam’s eyes began to roam about the room and his tongue darted out his mouth to lick his lips. He glanced up at Jon.

“I saw it”, croaked Sam, his voice barely above a whisper. 

He struggled to rise. Jon slipped his arms underneath his and helped him to his feet. Sam swayed slightly and hung on to the edge of the table while Jon steadied him. Sansa pulled up a chair and guided Sam on to it. Then she knelt next to the chair while Jon remained steadfast by his side. 

“What did you see, Sam?” she asked. 

“The green dragon…Rhaegal…large as life and twice as frightening”, he replied. “It was making a meal of a goat that it snatched up from some poor farmer’s herd. For a brief moment, I feared I would be its next course. It bore down on me, its eyes bulging and its teeth bared. I cringed and waited for the blast of fire that would cook me to my core but it stopped short. It regarded me for a few minutes, sniffing at me tentatively as if I was somehow familiar”.

He paused and looked at Jon.

“It must have smelled your blood”, he said nervously plucking at his sleeve. “It let out an awful screech and then it rose in the sky”.

Jon and Sansa exchanged glances over Sam’s head.

“Does this mean…?” asked Sansa with some hesitation.

“Oh, yes”, replied Sam. “Rhaegal has answered the call and is winging its way here”.


	44. Chapter 44

Sansa had been sensing it all morning. She listened carefully as she stood in the yard holding Lyra against her shoulder. While her daughter whimpered and sucked her fingers, Sansa strained to hear the familiar noises but the silence was broken only by the sounds of hammering and sawing in the distance. She stared intently at the sky and then lowered her gaze to watch Ghost circle Jon in an agitated manner as he strode from the stable. When the wind suddenly gusted, lifting her skirts into the air, she knew the time had come.

“Your new steed arrives anon, Jon Targaryen”, she sang out. Jon rolled his eyes and reached out to grab Ghost as dragon cries filled the air. He motioned to his men to clear the yard while Sansa hurried to remove herself and Lyra to safety.

Rhaegal glittered like a giant emerald as it descended from the firmament. Jon fixed his eyes on the dragon as it skidded on to the slushy snow and slipped into its skin to control its fiery temperament. Sansa watched uneasily as the dragon surveyed the yard with baleful eyes. Its smoky, sulphurous breath suffused the air surrounding it as it throbbed with heat. 

The dragon swiveled when it heard the snort of a pig penned up nearby. Its eyes narrowed and its lizard-like tongue darted out in salivatory anticipation. Sansa could see Jon struggling to curb the dragon’s natural instinct to plunder the stalls of Winterfell. 

This one, she realized with concern, might not be as compliant as its sibling. 

Ghost circled the perimeter of the yard, his tail swishing back and forth, never letting the dragon out of his sight. Jon called out to the saddler and his apprentice to haul out the saddle that had been created using Viserion’s measurements. The saddler and the boy approached the dragon using great caution as if prepared to flee at a second’s notice should the dragon open its mouth to unleash a hell storm of fire. 

Jon kept one hand placed firmly on the dragon’s haunch as the saddle was thrown on its back. The saddler froze in fear when the saddle slipped slightly and the dragon swiftly turned its head to fix the man in its hypnotic gaze. 

“Keep going, man…I promise you it won’t hurt you”, barked Jon. The saddler dipped his head and continued to fumble with the straps. Sansa could see his lips moving as if offering a silent prayer for help while the boy kept glancing at him with a perpetually worried expression on his face. The dragon shifted impatiently as they slid their fingers underneath the saddle as they looked for points of irritation and unnecessary slackness. 

Sansa was diverted from watching the hapless saddler and his apprentice as Lyra’s whimpers had now become cries of hunger.

“Let’s go inside and feed you, little one”, whispered Sansa as she rubbed and patted her daughter’s back. As she turned towards the entrance to the castle, she was startled by a familiar cry.

“Papa”, yelled Torrhen. He was returning from feeding the birds in the godswood and had broken away from his nursemaid. Sansa swiveled back in time to see him barreling down as fast as his short little legs could carry him towards his father…and the dragon. Rhaegal tossed its head and turned quickly, snorting oily smoke, in the direction of the child running towards it.

But before Sansa could open her mouth to warn him, Jon had already intercepted Torrhen and scooped him up into his arms. Torrhen laughed and threw his arms around Jon’s neck, peppering his face with kisses. Sansa didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she slowly let it out. 

She expected Jon to hand over Torrhen to his nursemaid’s care. Instead, she shook her head dumbly as she watched Jon stride over to the dragon with Torrhen still in his arms. As the two stood before the fearsome creature, Torrhen reached out to touch the dragon’s snout. He quickly pulled his hand away and made a face.

“Hot”, he declared. 

Jon chuckled and kissed his son’s forehead before setting him back on the ground and shooed him towards the nervous nursemaid. She scurried after him as he ran towards his mother and sister, beaming with delight at Sansa while she made side eye contact with Jon. We will speak of this later, she telegraphed. He nodded, his chin raised defiantly, and turned back to mount Rhaegal.

The dragon bucked and screeched as Jon hung on stubbornly to the reins and dug his heels in. Ghost showed his teeth and bristled but sensed enough to not come any closer. Jon reached out to stroke the dragon’s neck and spoke soothing words into its twitching ear. The dragon exhaled a plume of smoke and calmly unfurled its mottled green wings.

“I won’t be long”, announced Jon as the dragon reared in anticipation of mounting the sky. Sansa nodded.

“Ghost, to me”, she called out sharply as the direwolf darted about anxiously while dragon and rider left the ground. Torrhen grasped a handful of white fur after Ghost nosed his way in between them while Sansa watched Jon and his new pet fade into the distance. 

They returned just as the sun was peeking over the highest hill. Jon’s eyes glittered as he excitedly recounted how he met up Howland and his men as they continued to march north towards Castle Black. 

“They should arrive within a few days and then everyone will be in place”, he said as he pulled off his cloak and shook it out. Sansa took it from him and hung it up. 

“Have they encountered any resistance along the way?” she asked. 

“They have had a few skirmishes but nothing they couldn’t handle. The worst is yet to come”, he replied grimly.

Within the past few weeks, the ravens had been flying in with messages of armies arriving at the castles that lined what used to be the Wall. Dickon Tarly’s men occupied the Westwatch while Wyman Manderly’s men took over Eastwatch. Robert Arryn’s men were sailing up the coast with the intention of taking over Rimegate while the Blackfish marched his men up to Castle Black. Sigorn and the men of the mountain clans already occupied the Shadow Tower, Greyguard and Hoarfrost Hill. The Umbers, the Mormonts stood at the ready in Queensgate and Oakenshield while the Dustins and what few Bolton loyalists were left took up residence in the Nightfort. The Blackfish was marching the Riverlanders towards Castle Black and was prepared to take a fallback position should any wights penetrate their defenses. In the meantime, Shireen Baratheon, at Jon’s request, sent weapons from Dragonstone made of obsidian, caches of which were delivered and distributed to each of the occupied castles.

Arianne Martell had sent word that several ships were sailing from Dorne with provisions and volunteers. And she reported with some satisfaction that Myrcella was experiencing some success in convincing her timid brother to defy his mother and grandfather and send troops to the north to prevent a catastrophic event from occurring. 

All that was left was for Jon to join them in leading them out of the long night in the battle for the dawn.

“They’re almost finished”, he said jerking his chin towards the window. “Once they have piled up the snow and placed branches over their positions then they’ll be ready if the wights advance this far south again”. 

Howland had left a contingent of crannogmen to help defend Winterfell. Jon assured Sansa that although the men of Greywater Watch were small in stature, they more than made up for in their cunning. They had spent the last few days constructing traps and blinds in the woods surrounding the castle. Jon reminded Sansa that Greywater had never been successfully invaded.

“May I remind you that we don’t live in a bog which can suck a man into its very depth by virtue of the weight of his armour”, she had responded drily. “I hardly find that a ringing endorsement of their skills…it’s more an accident of geography”.

Jon laughed and assured her that the wily crannogmen were more than capable of adapting their effective defensive skills to more frozen climes.

She caught his hand as he turned towards the door. 

“Jon”, she hesitated, “you know how uneasy I am about having a dragon in our midst”. 

Jon held up his hand. 

“I knew you didn’t approve of having Torrhen touch Rhaegal, much less getting as close as he did, for that matter”, he replied softly, “but it’s important that he become acquainted with dragons in preparation for possibly becoming a dragon rider himself one day”.

Sansa was too stunned to reply. She barely accepted having Jon riding a dragon… she certainly never considered the possibility that their children might someday follow his lead. She always thought of them as their little wolf pups, never dragon spawn. Jon smiled at her sympathetically and drew his arms around her.

“Then again”, he continued, “Rhaegal may be the last dragon, doomed to disappear once this war has been won, thus rendering it obsolete”.

Sansa sighed inwardly… I can only hope and pray.


	45. Chapter 45

They lingered in bed far longer than they originally planned. They were aided and abetted by servants too tactful to knock on the door to Sansa’s bedchamber. There were no reminders that breakfast had been served and had long gone cold…there were no invitations to visit the children, freshly bathed and dressed, in the nursery…and there were no hesitant enquiries as to when Lord Snow planned on giving his final orders before leaving for the far north. 

They lay curled up together, their combined warmth conspiring to keep them from rising up to face the cold reality of day. 

“I promise you that there will be more communication this time…plenty of ravens to bring you messages from the battlefield”, he whispered. “Howland has also assured me that he will send you regular updates…good and bad”.

“Sometimes I wish I could go with you”, replied Sansa as she laid a hand aside his cheek. He turned his face to kiss her palm.

“I wish you could, too”, he sighed. “If it weren’t for the children I would have encouraged you to come”.

She nodded in understanding. She often wondered wistfully what might have happened if her mother had stayed in Winterfell and not gone south with Robb to secure hers and Arya’s release and avenge her father’s death. Would the Ironborn have attacked and taken the castle so easily? Would the Boltons have sacked it and claimed it as their own? Would Bran and Rickon still be there to grow up alongside her own children?

“Do you ever stop and think that maybe this was all preordained?” she asked rising up to face him. “That maybe the gods drew a circle around this point in time and decided that you would be here, no matter what happened along the way?”

She could see Jon contemplating her words for a few seconds before shaking his head.

“I don’t know…I like to think that I have freer hand in determining my fate”, he replied. “But so much has come to pass that I don’t fully understand and never wished to happen. Sometimes I feel like there is a greater hand that guides me along the road of life. Sometimes I feel like life is just a series of random events… bumps in the road, so to speak, that I either go over or go around”.

“Well, Jon Snow…Targaryen…Azor Ahai or whatever you choose to call yourself”, she said with a sigh, “it’s time to prove that you are more than just the fulfillment of some ancient prophecy. Are you ready to lead an army of skeptical northerners and doubtful southerners to battle with an army of the undead led by a race of creatures whose motive for wanting to kill us remains unclear?” 

Jon frowned.

“Well…when you put it that way…” he began until Sansa playfully punched him on the shoulder. Jon mouthed an “ow” while rubbing it. He held his hands up in mock surrender.

“I defer to the wishes of queen of winter and will leave anon in my quest to rid us of the scourge that plagues us all”, he said, over enunciating his words like a sycophantic courtier.

“My hero”, she murmured with a smile dancing on her lips. She laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes. She let the motion of his chest rising and falling lull her back into a light sleep.

They arose finally a short time later, resolving to feel no shame in what might have been their final hours together. While Jon packed up his possessions and assembled everyone in the yard, Sansa fetched the children from the nursery to make their goodbyes.

“I want you to obey your mother and be kind to your sister”, said Jon sternly. Torrhen nodded solemnly as he played with the clasp of his father’s cloak. Then he raised his eyes and tapped his chest while pointing at his father.

“Go with papa?” he asked with hope glistening in his blue eyes. Jon shook his head ruefully.

“Not today, little man”, he replied as he kissed his son and hugged him tight.

Then he gently removed Torrhen’s small hands and lowered him to the ground. Torrhen leaned against his mother and clung silently to her skirts with one finger lodged firmly in his mouth. His eyes never left Jon as if he could compel his father to stay through sheer willpower.

Jon took Lyra from her mother’s arms and leaned down to kiss her dark wisps of hair. She yawned and furrowed her brow as she stared back at him with the same stormy grey eyes. Jon smiled and chucked her under her chin before passing her to the nursemaid who stood nearby. Then he took Sansa’s hand and gestured to the woods beyond the castle walls.

“The crannogmen said they promise they are ready to face any enemy that dares show its face in these parts”, he chuckled. “They’re tough little buggers and I believe them”. 

She leaned forward to kiss him one more time, clutching at the collar of his cloak until she was ready to let him go.

“And what is your eternal promise to me?” she reminded him before loosening her grip.

Jon swallowed.

“To come back to you…always”, he replied huskily. She nodded.

“Don’t you dare break that promise”, she said fiercely. 

Rhaegal clawed the ground impatiently as Jon mounted the dragon. Ghost stood like a mournful sentinel as Torrhen dragged a desultory hand across the direwolf’s haunch. Lyra began to sniffle and cry as the dragon stepped back a few paces before it took flight. While the nursemaid shushed and swayed back and forth with the baby, Sansa let her own tears flow as she watched Jon and the dragon soar beyond the treetops.


	46. Chapter 46

I dreamt of you again last night, wrote Jon. Your unbound hair cascaded about your shoulders and your eyes glowed in the stillness of the moonlight. You smiled at me and raised a finger to your ruby lips as if you were about to divulge a deeply held secret. I woke up just as I was reaching out to touch you, to run my hands through your burnished hair and stroke your rosy cheek.

Sansa sighed and set the letter aside. For a man who claimed to be rubbish with words, he could be remarkably eloquent when putting quill to paper. She had read it already many times, mostly at night when she ached with loneliness. The first time she read it her breath caught in her throat. How could Jon have known when she had only recently reasoned it out herself? Then she realized that she was being foolish. After all, it was just a dream born out of separation and longing. 

She carefully folded up the letter and placed in the engraved box that she kept on a shelf in the wardrobe. The box was almost at capacity, filled with small treasures and more of Jon’s expressions of love.

She reached for the cup of brewed herbs that lay cooling by her bedside. It helped to settle the roiling in her belly. As she sipped her drink she probed her breasts, noting the tenderness that lingered. At first she believed her moon’s blood would finally begin to flow. When it didn’t, she knew then what her body was trying to tell her.

Oh, Jon, she thought resignedly, yet again you’ve gone away and left me with child.

She could hear the roars in the corridor getting louder as they approached her door. She sat up in bed and braced herself for the expectant knock. 

“I’m so sorry to disturb you, milady”, said the flustered, red-faced nursemaid, “but she has been screaming for a while now and there’s just no comforting her”.

Sansa reached out to take her daughter into her arms. Lyra firmly planted her feet in her mother’s lap and stood up fiercely, hanging on to her mother’s hands, sniveling and hiccupping all the while. Her face brightened as Sansa smiled and began to sing a familiar song. Soon Lyra was pumping her legs and chortling with delight.

“She wants to move about on her own but she’s frustrated because she can’t yet”, said Sansa calmly as she lowered her daughter to the bed to sit independently. She kept one hand braced against Lyra’s lower back while her daughter waved her arms about excitedly. 

“Just put her on the floor with Torrhen and some toys…she needs the challenge of trying to keep up with him. Sometimes she just doesn’t want to be held. Don’t worry about the crying jags…hopefully they will stop as soon as she starts to crawl and walk around holding on to the furniture”, she continued as she made faces at Lyra to her daughter’s delight.

“I’ll give it a try”, replied the nursemaid doubtfully as she reached for the baby. Lyra began to whimper and clutch at her mother’s arms.

“Leave her with me, then”, said Sansa with a sigh as she took back her daughter.

“Only if you’re sure, milady”, replied the nursemaid with some relief. Sansa dismissed the girl after rising to don her dressing gown. 

“You, little one, are not at all like your brother”, she said to Lyra as she planted the child on her hip. 

Whereas Torrhen was shy and somewhat introverted like his father, Lyra was loud and demanding. She reminded Sansa of Arya at times but even Arya’s cries weren’t loud enough to reach the great hall of Winterfell. Lyra’s cries were the screeches of a little dragon, Sansa suspected, and she will be a little spitfire when she is able to walk and run. And woes betide anybody who gets in her way. 

After spending the better part of the morning amusing her daughter, Sansa returned her to the nursery for a nap. She had just retired to her solar to finish some mending when she heard Sam requesting admittance from the other side of the door. He was holding a message in his hand.

“Another letter from Jon”, he confirmed. 

He sat down just as she poured him a goblet of wine. She could see the curiosity in his eyes when he noticed that she didn’t bother to pour one for herself. He knew that wine soured in her stomach when she was expecting. He also knew her well enough to notice that she had not come down for breakfast the past few mornings. And no doubt he listened to the tittle-tattle of the servants who had heard of how the mistress had been heard vomiting several days in a row. Now that couldn’t be due to just a piece of poorly cooked meat, they had concluded. She tilted her head to one side and smiled fondly at him.

“I can see the question on your face, Sam”, she said as he opened his mouth to voice his concerns. “And the answer is yes…I am again with child”.

He smiled broadly at the news. Then she could see him mentally reckoning how far advanced was the pregnancy. 

“When will you tell him?” he asked, patting her hand. 

“Soon…if he can find the time to come home then I will give him the news in person”, she replied as she set her mending aside. “So, what is the news from the edge of the world?”

Sam unfurled the message and read it aloud. Most of Jon’s notes were straightforward accounts of troop movements and battles won and lost. Sam had set up a war table in the library where tokens representing each faction were moved around like the pieces in a game of cyvasse. Jon was represented by a green dragon that Sam carved and painted himself. And it was Torrhen’s privilege to move his father’s token around the board according to the latest updates.

“He reports that the Riverlanders have finally arrived and have joined forces with the crannogmen”, he read. He quickly scanned the message and chuckled heartily.

“He says that the Blackfish and Lord Reed love nothing more than swapping war stories. But as the garrulous old codgers get deeper into their cups, their stories become more outlandish in the telling…to the point when Jon says there is no point trying to separate fact from fiction. He says you just have to sit back and enjoy the company”, he laughed.

He read further.

“He says the free folk volunteers have finally elected a commander. After soliciting a list of names to be put forward, a free vote with a show of hands was held. Jon says he was relieved that they elected a man, a tinker in his former life, who reminds Jon of Donal Noye”, he reported.

A good choice, thought Sansa, as Donal had been the blacksmith and one of Jon’s mentors at Castle Black. 

“The spearwives have decamped to Sable Hall and formed their own unit”, read Sam. “Theirs is a more co-operative style of governance which differs from the military style of command and control. Jon says it was a bit of adjustment for him to determine whom he should be dealing with on a daily basis. Nevertheless, it was made easier by a familiar face”.

“Who?” asked Sansa.

Sam looked up.

“Val”, he replied looking somewhat uncomfortable.


	47. Chapter 47

Sansa watched Jon climb off Rhaegal and then present his hand to the woman who still sat astride the dragon. The woman waved away his offer and proceeded to climb down on her own. While Jon removed the saddle, the woman took a few paces, lowered her white fur hood and gazed around the yard with a look of awe shining in her light grey eyes.

“So…to think I could have been Lady Muck of this place”, she drawled.

“Jon”, yelled Sansa. The woman turned and fixed her gaze on Sansa as Jon rushed towards his wife and crushed her in his embrace. The two clung together, murmuring endearments and pressing kisses upon upturned faces, until Jon made his excuses and pulled away to introduce his travelling companion.

“Sansa, I want you to meet…” he began.

“Val”, finished Sansa as she graciously offered her hand to the woman. “I knew it was you from Jon’s letters. Sam has filled in the rest”. 

Val, dubbed the wildling princess by Stannis, was tall, blonde and beautiful. Sam said she was a warrior and that her courage and ranging skills were renowned. Val took Sansa’s hand in hers and shook it vigorously. 

“I’m really pleased to meet the woman who finally captured Lord Crow’s heart”, she said heartily. 

Sansa invited Val to join her and Jon for a light supper in Jon’s solar after showing her to her room. As they turned to go indoors, Sam met them on the doorstep with his arms outstretched. After clapping arms with Jon, he greeted Val with an uneasy smile. 

“Val”, he said, “it’s nice to see you again”.

Val laughed and swatted at Sam’s rotund belly.

“Tarly”, she replied. “I see you still enjoy your food and ale. Read any good books lately?”

She didn’t wait for his reply as she strode into the castle and looked around with great interest. She watched the servants bustle about the corridors and the kitchen as meal preparations were being made.

“Would you like a tour?”asked Sansa politely.

Val wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

“Truthfully, what I need right now is a hot bath. I need to wash off the stink of that dragon your husband is so fond of”, she replied. 

Sansa motioned to one of the maids to accompany Val to her room and to arrange for hot water to be brought up as soon as possible. Once they departed she turned to Jon.

“You will also need a bath”, she murmured as she slid her arms up and down his. 

“And will you be my personal handmaiden?” he asked, leaning forward to whisper into her ear. 

“Count on it”, she replied as she took his hand and led him away. 

As Jon lay back in the steaming tub and closed his eyes, Sansa ran her hands through his damp curls, pulling them off his forehead and smoothing them behind his ears. Then she leaned over him and kissed him. He reached up and tugged on her hand.

“Will you not join me?” he asked suggestively. She shook her head.

“Not now…there will be time for that later”, she said as his face registered his disappointment. 

She shifted so that she now knelt over the edge of the tub to face him.

“I have a confession to make”, she said as she subconsciously reached down to place a hand on her belly. “I am with child”. 

Jon reacted by sitting up immediately, letting the water slosh over the sides of the tub. He grabbed her face with his meaty hands and planted a bruising kiss on her lips.

“Oh, gods, Sansa…I don’t know what to say”, he said breathlessly. A big smile split his face.

“Yes I do…I love you so much. I can’t believe we’re going to have another child”, he said gleefully. He reached up, wrapped his arms around her and hauled her into the tub.

“Jon”, she shrieked with outrage and laughter as she swirled helplessly in an attempt to clamber out, “what about my gown?”

“Oh sod the gown, Sansa”, he replied. “I’ll get you another one…prettier than that one because we’re going to have another baby!”

Val was already ensconced in Jon’s solar when they joined her for supper. She was nibbling on some cheese and swirling some good Dornish wine in her goblet while looking about the room with an air of satisfaction.

“I could get used to this”, she said with a sigh. “This is much nicer than any of those poxy castles up north”. She laid the goblet aside and turned to Jon.

“So, Lord Crow, does she know our history?” she asked jerking her chin in Sansa’s direction. 

“Some”, admitted Jon.

Val turned her gaze to Sansa.

“Your kneeler king, Stannis, offered this one”, she said glancing back briefly at Jon before returning to Sansa, “this castle and I was thrown in as his wife to seal the bargain. But he was too noble to accept”.

Sansa knew the story…everyone knew the story now how Jon had turned down his chance to become Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North because it meant taking it away from Sansa. It wasn’t right, he had told her later…it wasn’t fair. It made her love him even more.

But of Val’s part in the story he had said very little. Sam filled in some of the gaps. She now knew that Val had been Mance Rayder’s sister-in-law. And since Mance was the self-proclaimed King Beyond the Wall, that made Val a very valuable hostage indeed in Stannis’ eyes.

“I was a little miffed at first”, said Val with a broad grin. “To think that maybe I wasn’t good enough for his lordship here. But I got over it. After Jarl I wasn’t looking for a new husband, much less one that was being foisted upon me. But me and Lord Crow here…we got on after a while so that I grew quite fond of him in the end. We came to an understanding of sorts”.

She reached out to take another sip of wine.

“By the gods you people do make the best wine”, she declared enthusiastically. She cast an eye on Jon again. 

“I don’t suppose he told you that I tried to steal him before my escape”, she said boldly. Jon flushed and looked down at his boots. Sansa’s lips curled in surprise.

“Oh, look at him blush…he’s so pretty when he’s embarrassed”, laughed Val. She raised her goblet in salute. Sansa looked at Jon with amusement before looking back at Val.

“No, he certainly didn’t. Perhaps you could share that particular story”, she replied. 

Val took another sip of wine before continuing.

“It was after midnight. Gilly’s son had mercifully died that morning of the fever that had ravaged him for days. I was tired of being cooped up in that tower and with the child’s death my reason for staying was at an end. I had been plotting my escape for weeks and now was my chance. But I didn’t want to go it on my own. So I crept into his room and when he woke up he felt a knife at his throat. I told him that I was stealing him. The stupid man refused and in the ensuing ruckus woke up that pretty boy steward who came flying in to rescue his beloved commander. And, in doing so, alerted some of Stannis’ guards. I barely managed to get away…I had to slit a few throats before this one helped me escape during the confusion”.

Jon looked sheepish and ill at ease. Sansa wondered at his temerity.

“I wandered around south for a while…hunting, fishing …doing what I could to survive. I finally built a little home on the edge of the Gift, far away from prying eyes. But I lost it all when those damnable wights showed up and we all had to flee”, she continued. “I ended up at Last Hearth. I made peace with Sigorn and I helped Lady Alys birth her last child. And that is where I was when I heard when you had called the banners”.

Val reached out to grasp Sansa’s hand in her own calloused one. 

“First of all I want to reassure you that I have no intention of trying to steal this one again”, she said, her eyes sparkling. “He belongs to you and you only”.

“But”, she continued as she glanced at Jon, “him and me have a bond that goes way back. When I heard that he and that dragon were coming to get rid of those fuckers then I knew I had to be there with him”.

Sansa looked at the brash, plain spoken woman who sat there before her and knew, in her heart, that her words were sincere. She squeezed Val’s hand in reply before turning to Jon.

“You know, Jon…you do have a habit of attracting strong, independent women to your side”, Sansa observed. “I don’t know whether I should be jealous or impressed”.

Jon chuckled as he rose to answer the knocking at the door. Sam had arrived with a servant bearing their supper.

The meal was a lively affair at first with Jon, Val and Sam entertaining Sansa with their shared memories of life at the Wall. Then Sam told Val that Dalla and Mance’s son was now being raised by a farm family near Horn Hill. Nobody there knew he was the son of a king and, if Sam had anything to say about it, nobody ever would. Eventually the conversation grew more melancholy when they realized how much they had all lost over the years.

As the fire died down to glowing embers, it became apparent to all that it was late and they were exhausted. Sam had already made his excuses and left for his rooms while Sansa dozed lightly against Jon’s shoulder. She could hear Jon and Val speaking, their voices low so as not to disturb her. 

“Have you asked her yet?” questioned Val.

“No”, replied Jon. “Besides, she is expecting again so she’ll not risk it in her condition”.

“Ask her anyway”, insisted Val. “She might surprise you. From the tales you’ve told me she has a lot more fire in her than I expected from a southern girl”.


	48. Chapter 48

“What is the question you’ve been meaning to ask me?” queried Sansa sleepily as Jon gently deposited her on the bed. She rolled over on to one side to watch him unlace her shoes and drop them on the floor. He cursed under his breath as he fumbled untying the ribbon on one of her stockings so it ended up in a knot.

“What are you talking about?” he asked impatiently.

Sansa leaned down and skillfully unknotted the ribbon and rolled her stocking down her leg while Jon went to work on her other leg. Then she placed a bare foot against his chest as he reached for the stays on her gown.

“I overheard Val asking you if you had posed a certain question so stop ignoring me and ask away”, she said firmly. He stopped and looked up.

“It can wait until morning”, he replied with a huff. She leaned in to look him square in the eye. 

“You’ll not get any further until I know what the two of you were discussing”, she said as she clutched at her gown. She could see him mulling it over before finally sitting down on the bed beside her. 

“It’s ridiculous, really…” he began as turned towards her. “I already know what your answer will be so it’s pointless to even ask”.

She sat up and slipped a languid finger underneath his collar, running it along the back of his neck.

“Try me”, she whispered as she nuzzled him behind his ear. He sighed.

“Val was astonished that I have never offered to take you out dragon flying”, he finally confessed. “I told her that you hate the creatures and that you barely tolerate having me travel on their backs. But then she pointed out to me that I was denying you the one opportunity that most people will never experience in our world…to soar like a bird”.

Sansa sat back against the pillows and plucked at her gown. Jon crawled up to lie beside her. 

“She’s a very perceptive woman”, said Sansa as she laid a hand on his belly. Jon picked up her hand and raised it to his lips.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to experience the sensation of flying, Sansa?” he asked as he kissed her fingertips.

Many times, she thought wistfully.

“Sometimes I would sit by the window of my room in the Red Keep and watch the seagulls as they dipped and soared over the waves to parts unknown. Other times I fantasized about becoming a fierce falcon with great talons so I could rip out Joffrey’s eyes before tearing at his throat”, she replied softly. “Once, when I was in the Eyrie, I dreamt that a great black raven came to snatch me up and carry me back to the safety of Winterfell”. 

She shook her head and wiped away irritably at the tears that were forming in her eyes.

“I wanted to fly when I so desperately needed to escape whether it was from abuse at the hands of the Lannisters or unwanted groping from Petyr’s clammy hands”, she said as she slid down and burrowed against his side, taking in his warm scent of soap mingled with the leathers that he wore. She looked up.

“But I don’t dream of flying anymore because I am exactly where I want to be and with whom I want to be”, she said. He smiled down at her.

“The offer still stands if you change your mind”, he said.

“Right now I’m happy having both feet on the ground, even if the ground is covered in snow”, she said with a small smile. Then she sat up and began to unlace the stays on her bodice until Jon stilled her hands.

“We don’t have to, Sansa, if you’re plagued by bad memories”, he said hoarsely. She shook out her hair and gave him a cool, appraising look.

“Then I believe that you’re the perfect antidote for my acute case of melancholia, don’t you think?” she replied with a cheeky grin.

“Then come here, woman” he said with a growl as he yanked on her hips and pulled her flat on the bed. He assisted her in peeling off her layers of clothing, complaining about each and every garment as she threw them aside.

“It’s winter and I get cold in this drafty place”, she replied, shivering slightly before scrambling beneath the furs. She watched him through heavy-lidded eyes as he cast aside his clothes before joining her under the covers. 

I wonder if Val ever regrets not persuading him to leave with her that night, she pondered silently.

He kissed her lips and left a trail of kisses along her neck and shoulders. She moaned in appreciation. Then he winked at her and slithered backwards until he disappeared under the furs.

“Jon?” she asked, puzzled at his behaviour. 

“I don’t want you to get cold”, came his muffled reply.

“Jon, don’t be ridiculous”, she said as she could feel him prying her legs apart.

“Jon”, she said again, “did you hear me? Come out from under there before you suffocate”. 

She gasped when she felt his lips probe her mound and found that hot button of desire. Oh gods, thought Sansa, I had almost forgotten what this could feel like. She gripped the furs tightly as his tongue circled her clit and his fingers stroked her inner thighs. Then he threw back the covers and peered up at her from between her legs.

“Sorry…did you say something?” he panted, his cheeks rosy and his hair in complete disarray.

“No”, she murmured as she closed her eyes in bliss. “Carry on”.


	49. Chapter 49

Sansa was greeted by the smell of freshly baked bread and the sound of raucous laughter.

“Oh lovey…is your belly troubling you again this morning?” asked the cook sympathetically as she looked up from the dough she was kneading.

Sansa nodded. The cook wiped her hands on her apron and pulled up a chair, gesturing to Sansa to take a seat.

“I’ll brew you up some more of my herb concoction, shall I?” she asked as she bustled about opening cabinet doors. 

“That would be lovely”, replied Sansa wearily as she leaned her head on one hand with her elbow resting on the table.

“Shall I have one of the girls bring it up to your room?” asked the cook. Sansa shook her head slowly.

“No, Lord Snow is still sleeping and I don’t want to wake him”, she replied. “I’ll sup it here”.

“I’ll wager neither of you got much sleep last night”, cackled Val from the recesses of the kitchen. She plunked a plate of bread slices and a bowl of butter on the table and slid on to a chair. 

“Don’t give her no mind, my dear”, said the cook as she gave Val a warning look. “She’s just jealous because she didn’t have a lovely man warming her bed last night”.

“Too right”, sighed Val as she buttered a thick slice of bread. “But, there’s a couple of tasty lads that have been giving me the glad eye that I just might try out before we leave”.

She winked at Sansa before biting into her bread. The cook presented Sansa with a steaming mug of brew. Sansa blew on the surface of the liquid gently before taking a tentative sip.

“I remember when Dalla was with child”, ruminated Val as she chewed on her bread. “The poor girl puked her guts out many times a day for the first few moons. Then she broke out in a rash that itched something fierce and her feet were swollen half the time. Oh…and she had to pee all the time. She was forever shying off to pee no matter where we were or what we doing. You wouldn’t catch me baring my bum in weather that was so cold that your pee would turn into an icicle before it hit the snow. I’d rather hold it in until I could find somewhere warmer”.

“I’m guessing you’ve never been with child”, said Sansa as she warmed her hands around the mug. Val shook her head.

“Never been caught…not once”, she said proudly. “And after caring for Dalla’s babe after she died in childbirth I realized that children weren’t in the cards for me”.

“Do you still miss your sister?” said Sansa. 

Val pushed her plate aside and tented her fingers.

“Every day”, she replied solemnly.

“So do I”, whispered Sansa. 

“Dalla was everything to me for much of my life…sister, best friend and mother when our own was taken from us. She was beautiful, wise and compassionate and when she died I thought my heart would never mend”, said Val. 

“Arya was taken from me far too early. When we were growing up we were as different as chalk and cheese. She was passionate about fighting and exploring whilst I was caught up in being the perfect, dutiful daughter to please my mother. At times she was almost fearless; hurtling over the meadow on her pony, loosing arrow upon arrow until her fingers bled. Sometimes we could be so horrible to each other. And it hurt me that she preferred the company of the boys to mine own but it didn’t stop me from loving her dearly”, reflected Sansa. 

Val sat back in her chair and studied Sansa’s face. 

“You know…in some ways you remind me of Dalla”, she observed. “Your gracious exterior belies the toughness that dwells inside”.

Sansa tilted her head to one side and smiled.

“And you embody the woman I imagine Arya would have grown up to become”, she realized. 

“Except, being a lord’s daughter, she would have been a lot more refined”, snorted Val as she picked up her knife to slather on more butter. 

Sansa chuckled as she raised her mug to her lips. 

“Are we interrupting?” asked a polite male voice.

Jon stood in the doorway with Lyra in one arm and Torrhen swinging from the other. 

“Ah…look at them…two beautiful little ones”, exclaimed Val. She rose from the table, bent down before Torrhen and stuck out her hand.

“I’m Val, little lord”, she said. “I serve under your father’s command. And you must be…?”

Torrhen glanced up at his father who nodded at him.

“Torrhen”, he replied gravely, awkwardly proffering his hand. She smiled and ruffled his curls as she straightened up. 

“And this little princess must be Lyra”, she said. Lyra regarded Val for a couple of seconds before turning her face away and burying it against her father’s shoulder.

While Torrhen scampered over to the table for his breakfast at the behest of the cook, Jon leaned over to plant a kiss on Sansa’s brow as she reached up to take their daughter from him. Then he pulled up a chair while Val sat down to resume her repast. 

“You look exhausted and unwell”, he said with concern as he brushed away a loose strand of Sansa’s hair. “Why don’t you return to bed?”

“It’s temporary”, she replied as she pushed the hot mug away from Lyra’s busy hands. 

“You still look peaky, my dear”, said the cook as she brushed past with Torrhen’s meal. Jon nodded in agreement. Val laid her slice of bread back on her plate, rose and rounded the table. She extended her arms.

“I’ll look after Lyra while he takes you back to bed”, she offered.

“That won’t be necessary”, replied Sansa. “She does have a nursemaid whom we can send for”.

“Let me, please…if only for a little while”, insisted Val. “I may not be anybody’s mother but I am experienced with babes”.

Sansa looked at her gratefully and passed the struggling child into Val’s waiting arms. Val soothed Lyra as the baby began to wail and frantically reach for her mother.

“Come on, chuck”, she said, her syrupy voice rising above the din. “Let’s go look at the pretty flowers in the gardens. Then maybe we can go visit the funny little men hiding in the trees”.

As Lyra’s cries faded, Jon gently picked up Sansa’s mug and offered his hand to her. She took it as she rose up and turned to Torrhen.

“Stay in the kitchen until Papa comes back”, she said. Torrhen nodded as he chewed on his food. 

“Not to worry, my dear”, said the cook. “We’ll keep an eye on him”.

She leaned on him slightly as they walked towards her rooms. As they walked in companionable silence, she thought again about his offer.

“Jon, if Ayra was here, would you have hesitated to ask her if she wanted to ride a dragon?” she asked as they rounded a corner. 

He laughed. 

“Arya wouldn’t have waited for an offer…she would have mounted Rhaegal as soon as the saddle was in place”, he replied. “Why do you ask?”

Sansa stopped and grabbed his shoulder.

“I’ve decided that I want to ride that dragon after all”, she said.


	50. Chapter 50

So what changed your mind?” asked Val in a loud whisper.

Sansa thought carefully about her response before replying. 

“For years I was treated like the prize pig at the county fair…everyone wanted me but few could afford me. After being the whipping girl for Joffrey’s failures and Petyr’s proxy for my dead mother, I finally learned to protect myself and stay three steps ahead of everyone else. I learned how to calculate and manipulate to bend people to my will. I hardened my heart and learned to temper my impulses with cold reason. When I returned north to rebuild my family home, on my own, I resolved never to remarry because I was never going to let any man have that kind of control over me ever again”.

She swallowed before continuing.

“Jon was the first man in a very, very long time that I grew to trust and eventually love. When he said that he would never take it all away from me I believed him with all my head and heart. And when I made a fool of myself in Kings Landing over Arianne Martell, he could have dismissed my fears as the ranting of an unhinged, jealous harpy. Instead, he brought me straight home where I felt safe and loved. And here I have stayed ever since, never venturing beyond the woods that ring this castle”.

She turned to face Val.

“I have made my world a very small place. Jon is the one who goes out to treat with the other lords. Jon is the one who rides out to investigate reports of poaching and resolves property disputes… all in my name”.

She held up a hand as she could see Val about to interject.

“I know I am not like you…like Arya was. I have no thirst to see and experience the world beyond my borders. I am content to stay at home, to care for my husband and children, manage my estate and be a dutiful warden on behalf of the other northern lords. So when Jon offered to take me flying on a dragon my immediate impulse was to say no. I am with child. Dragons are frankly terrifying creatures which are capable of laying waste to everything in its sights within minutes. Is it logical to want to ride one of those fearsome creatures? No! Jon knew better than to ask which is why he did so only at your instigation”.

Val gave her a wry smile and leaned in.

“So, I repeat…what changed your mind then?” she asked softly.

“Well, you did…after a fashion”, she replied. Val looked confused.

“I don’t recall any conversation urging you to take up your husband’s offer to ride his dragon”, she said. 

Sansa smiled.

“No, but the conversation about our sisters reminded me of how much I always admired Arya’s spirit of adventure. She never failed to tackle obstacles head-on while I dodged around them. To turn down this opportunity to experience the world from such a height would be a disservice to her memory. Therefore, I have decided to screw up my courage and ride a large, foul-smelling, fire-breathing flying lizard because my sister would have dared me to do. And mocked me soundly if I refused”, she replied.

Val let out a screech of laughter. 

“Well, then…I double dare you just in case you try to change your mind again”, she said. “You won’t regret it…I promise you. I remember the first time I saw the world from the top of the Wall and it was an awe- inspiring sight. This…this experience topped that one. You will see the world from a perspective very few ever have and ever will”. 

Jon finished buckling the last strap on the saddle while Rhaegal stood impassively, steam rising from its scaly body in the frigid air. 

“Ready?”asked Jon, calling over his shoulder to Sansa. 

Sansa glanced at Val before taking a deep breath.

“Ready”, she replied brightly.

Heeding Val’s advice, Sansa had dressed herself in a warm fur jacket and leggings for the journey. She pulled up her hood and tucked her auburn hair inside before accepting a leg up from Jon. She held her breath for a few seconds as Rhaegal pitched and took a few steps to the side. Then she steadied herself as Jon climbed up behind her and took up the reins.

She could feel his warm breath on her cheek as he leaned over to give her some final instructions.

“Try not to be afraid. Dragons can sense fear and feed off it”, he counseled.

“How can I not be afraid?” she hissed as Rhaegal shifted restlessly. 

“Because I won’t let anything happen to you…I promise you”, he replied before giving her a quick kiss on her bright red cheek.

“I’m counting on it”, she said with a sigh.

She could feel the dragon vibrate beneath her parted legs as it braced itself to take to the sky. Then it spread its wings and took a few steps before leaping into the air and soaring towards the treetops. She felt the wind whistle past her ears and watched the clouds grow larger as the dragon rose higher in sky.

Sansa looked down to watch the great castle of Winterfell shrink to the size of a dollhouse. The people became tiny creatures that skittered across the snowy ground. And as Rhaegal’s wings flapped even faster, the world seemed to pass more slowly.

She was struck by the beauty and majesty of the firmament as the sky spread itself out in hues of yellow, blue and lavender. The trees that dotted the landscape, so large and imposing from the ground, looked like sticks that a child had stuck in the snow. She turned to Jon.

“How far shall we go?” she shouted.

“How far would you like to go?” he asked in response. She thought about for a minute.

“I want to follow the kingsroad to Castle Black”, she replied. “I want to experience the journey you took when we parted ways all those years ago when I went south while you continued north”.

“Done”, he shouted as he pulled the reins to one side to steer the dragon northwards. 

In the dead of winter, the kingsroad was seldom traveled. It had become little more than a track of trampled, hard-packed snow. They could see traces of tracks left by the sledges and the horses that pulled them. Otherwise the road was deserted.

As they grew closer to Castle Black, the landscape began to change. Mole’s Town, which was situated half a league south of the castle, had become a barren tract of charred huts and blackened rocks. The trees were barely more than splinters in the ground. Sansa viewed the scene with dismay and she could feel Jon tense up behind her. 

“Oh, gods, Jon…I didn’t expect this kind of devastation”, she called out. Jon was silent and she could sense him scanning the horizon for signs of danger. She could feel the dragon lose altitude as Jon took it in lower to have a look. He then spotted a small contingent of wights staggering across the scorched earth before pointing them out to Sansa.

“I…I should deal with this immediately”, he said almost apologetically. 

She nodded silently. You do what you have to do, Jon, she thought.

The dragon began to snort black smoke as it circled closer to the ground. The heat that radiated from its body coiled and distorted the air surrounding it. Sansa started to sweat in her heavy clothes as she felt the dragon begin to tremble. 

“Shield your eyes”, shouted Jon. Sansa ducked down as the dragon unleashed a blast of fire over the creatures that lurched through the snowy terrain. Remnants of the fire curled up around the dragon’s snout and crackled as they dissipated into the atmosphere.

The wights twisted and dropped quietly to the ground as the flames licked at their ragged clothes and melted what flesh remained. Sansa raised her eyes and gaped in horror at the ghastly sight. Within seconds only smoking ash and a few sooty bones remained as evidence that they existed at all. 

Jon had been conspicuously silent during the attack. She knew that warging sometimes took all his powers of concentration, particularly when trying to control a dragon bearing down on its prey.

She heard him gasp as he became just Jon again. He tugged on the reins and banked left. Sansa peered over the horizon where she could see the dim outline of a several stone towers and timber keeps looming in the distance. She raised a finger and pointed towards the buildings excitedly.

“Castle Black”, confirmed Jon.


	51. Chapter 51

The dark towers of Castle Black loomed gloomily against the rosy sky as the sun cast its final glow. As Rhaegal circled overhead, Sansa studied the collection of tumbled down towers and crumbling walls that had been Jon’s home. 

The word castle, she decided, was a misnomer as it lacked the sweep and grandeur of the keeps further to the south. Instead, what she saw was a sadly neglected fortress of weathered timber and stone. 

To the north of the castle stood the remains of the great ice wall that had acted as a barrier between Westeros and its northern enemies for thousands of years. Great boulders of ice and snow now lay scattered on the ground, lonely remnants of the wall’s former majesty.

As the dragon dipped closer, Sansa could hear shouts and cries rising from the men below. She could see the men on the battlements pointing excitedly while those on the ground rushed to prevent the horses from bolting in fear. 

Jon navigated the dragon in circles around the castle, drawing ever closer to the ground. The dragon screeched as it began its descent in earnest and finally skidded to a halt just outside the south gate, sending up a spray of snow and slush. 

Jon alit first and then reached up to help Sansa down. As she slid into Jon’s arms she could hear the murmur of voices as a group of onlookers gathered at the gate. And then she heard a loud voice infused with the warm accent of her mother’s people. 

“Cat’s little shadow…as I live and breathe”, shouted the Blackfish.

She whirled around and within a few strides had thrown herself into her great uncle’s arms. 

“Nuncle”, she said with cry of delight as she pulled back to look at him. “It has been a long time”. 

“Aye”, he replied. “Not since your wedding I reckon. I’ve heard you’ve birthed a couple of little pups since then. I’ll have to make a side trip to Winterfell on our journey home to see them for myself”.

“Mayhaps I will have given birth to our third child by then”, she replied with an impish smile as she laid a hand on her belly. The Blackfish guffawed and slapped Jon on the back.

“Well done, son”, he said heartily. Jon blushed and grinned sheepishly before glancing at the dragon which exhaled steam and had clawed a shallow crevasse in the muddy snow. He pulled Sansa aside.

“You should go ahead in with the Blackfish while I attend to Rhaegal. Then I will join you both anon”, he said.

Sansa nodded.

“I expect a tour of the castle, Lord Commander. I want to see where you slept, where you ate, where you trained and, especially, where you executed that traitor, Janos Slynt”, she said with relish.

Jon looked at her with astonishment.

“I never would have expected such ghoulish delight from such a refined and cultured lady as you”, he said, his lips quirked in amusement. 

“I’m just full of surprises”, she laughed as she linked arms with her great-uncle.

As they strolled arm in arm through the icy yard, the Blackfish conveyed her Uncle Edmure’s regrets about being unable to join up with the northern forces.

“Silly bugger is useless when it comes to war anyway”, he muttered. “He’s better off staying home to protect his Frey wife from the northerners who still bray for Frey blood”.

Sansa winced at the memory of the Frey family’s part in the massacre of the Stark loyalists at the Twins.

“Aye”, she replied. “It is just as well that he stay put…northerners have long memories and are exceedingly patient when it comes to exacting revenge”.

The Blackfish patted her hand absently as his face softened and his eyes grew rheumy.

“It’s a bloody shame that Ned and Cat didn’t live long enough to enjoy their grandchildren”, he said sadly. “And I do believe that Cat might have grown to grudgingly respect your husband considering the man he has become”. 

They were still reminiscing quietly in the shadow of the Commander’s Keep when Jon arrived. Before parting company the Blackfish requested that they join him later as soon as they were finished their tour.

“We’ve had some worrying reports from our most northerly outposts”, he said grimly.

As Jon led Sansa through the castle grounds, she drank in every detail. She noted the newness of the wood of the castle’s northern face, hastily erected to replace the fallen wall, as they made their way to Hardin’s tower where Jon slept when he arrived as a new recruit. 

As they entered Jon’s cell in the tower, Sansa was struck by how bleak and mean the surroundings were.

“Oh, Jon”, she said with a sigh as she sank down on the thin, straw-filled mattress that covered the narrow cot that he slept on as a newly minted man of the Night’s Watch. “It’s a far cry from your rooms at Winterfell”.

“I won’t lie”, he replied as he sat down beside her, “it was hard at first. But I had Ghost for company and later I had friends to help ease the loneliness and disappointment”. 

“Any regrets?” she asked as her hand crept into his. He covered her hand and shook his head. 

“No…no regrets. It was time to leave Winterfell and I needed to forge a life for myself. I know that Robb would have taken care of me… given me a small keep of my own… given me a position of some responsibility to ensure my love and loyalty”, he replied. “But I needed to prove to myself and others that I could beat my own path and become the hero of my own story”. 

After leading her back down the uneven steps of Hardin’s tower, Jon showed Sansa the common hall where the Brothers took their meals and the rookery where the current maester tended to the ravens. Then they continued their journey by going underground. As they wended their way through the pitch black wormways, torch in hand, Jon took her through the vaults and finally ended up at the ice cell where Jon had been imprisoned for desertion and murder. That is until Maester Aemon intervened and persuaded his gaolers that it would be wiser to accept the truth of his story and release him immediately due to his popularity among the other men. As they stood there silently fogging up the small, icy chamber with their warm breath, Sansa was suddenly filled with a sense of melancholy at the thought of Jon being locked up here for days on end, awaiting his fate. He squeezed her hand as she laid a weary head on his shoulder.

“Seen enough?” he whispered. She nodded. 

When they emerged above ground, one of the sentries approached them both with the request to join Lord Reed and the Blackfish in the library.

“Welcome back, lad”, called out Howland, looking up from the map spread out on a large table. “You’ve returned just in time”.

He pulled out a chair and invited Sansa to sit. Then he gave her a wink.

“My friend here”, he said with a nod at her great uncle, “has just informed me of your news...the best of health to you and the babe, my dear”.

Sansa smiled graciously and thanked him for his good wishes.

“And now to the business at hand”, said the Blackfish briskly. “Your fellow wargs have been very busy, Jon. We’ve had a flurry of reports coming in via every manner of fowl to inform us of a massive army of wights marching on us from the furthest frontiers”.

Jon had identified and persuaded a small contingent of free folk, wargs and those simply longing for the familiarity of their deserted villages, to return to points north to operate as eyes and ears on enemy movements. 

“The difficulty at this point is determining the size and scope of this army and which castles are most vulnerable”, the Blackfish continued. “And that is where we could use the services of you and your dragon. Would you be able to reconnoiter this evening and report back?”

Jon glanced uneasily at Sansa before replying.

“I would prefer to return Sansa to Winterfell first”, he replied. Sansa opened her mouth to protest when Howland interjected.

“We can certainly take good care of her here at Castle Black…if that suits you, my dear”, said Howland. Sansa held up a hand before replying.

“I would prefer to go with Jon”, she said as she rose to her feet.

“Then it’s settled”, said Jon as he took her hand. “I will return to take on the mission as soon as I have delivered Sansa safely to Winterfell”.

Sansa shook off his hand as she turned to face him.

“No, you misunderstand me, Jon…I intend to accompany you this evening on your mission north”, she said emphatically.


	52. Chapter 52

The atmosphere in the room was heavy with unexpressed emotions until Jon finally snapped.

“Sansa, you know I can’t take you further north…it’s far too dangerous”, he sputtered.

Sansa jutted out her chin in defiance.

“Surely as warden of the north it is my duty…” she began. But her words died on her lips as he raised his hand to silence her.

“You know as well as I do that pulling rank in this instance is not going to change my mind”, he said coolly. He folded his arms as a final gesture. In his mind, the matter was closed. 

She glanced quickly at her great uncle, her eyes seeking alliance with his. But he and Howland were already rising from their chairs and readying themselves to take their leave.

“This is between the two of you, sweetling”, the Blackfish said as he rested his hand briefly on her shoulder as he passed. “I trust that the both of you will arrive at a rational decision.”

Rational, thought Sansa crazily…there was nothing rational in this. This was sheer want and nothing more. She had swallowed her fears and now was giving in to a greater craving for adventure. But Jon was going to take a lot of more persuasion if she wanted to change his mind.

She raised her eyes and noted the look of finality on his face. She lowered them again and moved closer to him, almost nestling against his chest. She swore she could hear the pounding of his heart as his breathing began to quicken.

“Please don’t make me beg, Jon”, she pleaded softly. “I swear I won’t be a hindrance. I think I proved that already on the journey here. And I can be an extra pair of eyes and ears in such a dark world”. 

Her fingers danced along his forearm.

“I only know this world through your letters. Please let me come with you so I can let loose my senses on a place that right now exists solely within my imagination”, she added with a flourish. 

She looked at him from under her eyelashes and could see his face begin to soften. He had let go of his stubborn resolve and doubt now reigned. He sighed heavily.

“And what of the babe?” he asked as he tilted his head and looked at her skeptically.

“Safe as houses”, she assured him with a grin as she laid a hand on her belly. “Riding a horse would be more dangerous in my condition… at least I don’t bounce up and down when riding Rhaegal like I would on my own steed”.

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he raised his eyes to the ceiling. Then he returned his gaze to her.

“I must be mad”, he muttered. “Alright…but first we eat and get some rest because it’s going to be a long night”.

She uttered a happy cry and threw her arms around his neck. She peppered his face with kisses before raising his hand to her lips and kissing his knuckles.

“You won’t regret this”, she said excitedly. 

They joined the others in the common hall for a meal of venison stew and freshly baked bread. After the meal was finished and the tables had been cleared, they gathered around with their horns of ale to share wild stories of campaigns long past and sing bawdy songs of loves long lost.

Sansa listened with curiosity and delight to their outlandish tales. She was unfazed by their boozy behaviour and was disinclined to leave the hall despite Jon’s reservations.

“I’m no longer a blushing young maid”, she reminded him. “I’ve heard worse. And in a funny sort of way their songs remind me of happier times when we were young. Remember when my parents would host large gatherings that would go on long into the night? We would be shooed off to bed early before they got well into their cups but we would always sneak back later to finish the dregs and throw the scraps to the direwolves”.

They reminisced about the time when they failed to notice that Arya had consumed more than her small body weight could tolerate and was staggering around the room, dodging her older siblings desperately trying to corral her. When they finally caught up with her, Robb hoisted her over his shoulder while Jon ran interference before the drunken adults could catch on to their antics. Arya spent the rest of the evening vomiting while Sansa remained with her, speaking soothing words and coaxing her into taking small sips of water to calm her roiling stomach. All the while, the boys remained outside the door as sentries, vigilant to the prying eyes of nosy servants.

They left the hall just as the din was rising and expanding as high as the rafters in the ceiling. The shouts and laughter faded into the night as they walked hand in hand across the yard. The horses whinnied softly in the stables and the snow crunched beneath their boots. And rising in the sky was the biggest and brightest moon that Sansa had ever seen. It lit up a glittering path towards Hardin’s tower where they bedded down for a couple of hours, curled up tightly together on Jon’s old bed. 

Rhaegal was waiting just outside the south gate as if it had never left. The dragon snorted bursts of fire and shook its head as Jon and Sansa made their farewells before mounting the beast and taking to the starry sky.

The night was clear as they flew over the white expanse that glowed in the light of the full moon. She breathed in the air that left a tingly sensation on her tongue as she silently scanned the alien landscape below. The frozen streams and rivers glowed like silvery ribbons in the moonlight while in the distance she could see the craggy Frostfangs tower menacingly. 

As they neared the Frostfangs, Sansa could see a faint glow of greenish light stretching across the sky. As they drew closer, she clutched at Jon’s arm and pointed to the lights that separated into waves of red, blue and purple before receding into a warm green glow once again. The colours danced over the snowy peaks of the mountains as if beckoning them to come closer.

Jon leaned in to speak in her ear.

“The northern lights…it’s rare to see the full spectrum of colour like this”, he explained.

As she watched the spectacle with awe, she also felt a growing apprehension in the pit of her stomach that what they were witnessing was a harbinger of something bigger yet to come. 

With the mountains looming in the distance, the lights suddenly burst into an array of brilliant colours that lit up the plains that lay beneath them.

Sansa feared that she would be sick.

“Oh, gods, Jon”, she cried as she pointed to the thousands of reanimated corpses that lurched over the frozen terrain. “How in seven hells do we take on all those?”


	53. Chapter 53

The return to Winterfell was swift and immediate. Sansa’s entreaties to stop off at Castle Black to make her goodbyes were met with a terse reply.

“No”, said Jon, “there’s no time”.

They arrived under cover of darkness. Jon dismounted quickly and had already slipped into what Sansa had teasingly referred to in the past as his Lord Commander mode. Only it was no laughing matter now. As she slid into his arms he was already rapidly barking out orders to the men on duty. She could feel the tension in his body as he held her close. His movements were precise and his diction clear as he dressed down any man who dithered in his duties. Sansa stood at his side, uncertain as to what to do until he finally turned to her.

“Go wake the children, love”, he said, his voice low and calm. “We will all meet together in the great hall”. 

As the men darted about in reaction to Jon’s orders, Sansa made her way to the nursery. Torrhen was already sitting on the edge of his cot, rubbing the sleep from his eyes while Lyra sat babbling in the nursemaid’s lap, shaking a rattle furiously as the nursemaid attempted to tie the ribbons on her daughter’s gown.

“Mama”, cried Torrhen when he spotted her. He slid off his cot and padded barefoot across the stone cold floor. She held out her arms and scooped him up to give him a kiss and a hug. Lyra screeched happily and strained to join her brother while the nursemaid hung on gamely.

With the children dressed, they joined the rest of the inhabitants of Winterfell in the great hall. Sansa and the children joined Jon to stand on the dais to face a sea of onlookers. Some were seated at the tables chatting quietly while others gathered in the doorways or slouched along the walls. Their faces showed a range of emotions from idle curiosity to barely concealed anxiety. Sansa listened to the low murmur of voices and watched the children shuffle restlessly with boredom and anticipation. 

Torrhen stood stock still between his father and his mother. His solemn face matched his father’s demeanor as he clutched his father’s hand tightly. Lyra was perched on her mother’s hip, kicking her legs energetically and tugging on her mother’s long auburn braid of hair. Jon glanced at Sansa before raising one hand high, signaling his intention to speak.

“People of Winterfell”, he began as the noise in the hall died down. “This prolonged war with the Others is finally coming to a head. A massive army of thousands of wights is bearing down on us from the north but this time we are prepared to face them as a united force of Westerosi men and women”. 

He turned and gave Sansa a wry smile before continuing. 

“I know many of you recall a similar speech given in this very hall over a year ago in which my late lamented aunt promised to deliver the north from the scourge that had descended on us”, he spoke haltingly.

He paused to clear his throat while his audience nodded and murmured to each other.

“And we all know how that ended”, he said, his voice tinged with regret. There was a chorus of ayes in response and then an awkward silence ensued.

“I…I can’t promise you that we’ll succeed this time”, he continued, his voice rising. “But, I can promise you that we have assembled an impressive fighting force that will never give up. We are all united in a single cause…to protect our families and homes by driving back the Others from whence they came. There is no turning back now. We either take back what is ours or we die trying”. 

He paused to take a breath while the assembled throng shouted and thumped their approval. 

“The Others and their minions do not belong here. That was made clear thousands of years ago when Bran the Builder erected the Wall as a means of protecting us from the cold, unfriendly forces of the Land of Always Winter. We may not understand the source of their animosity towards us but we do understand unalloyed aggression. They may have started the fight but, by all the gods, we’re going to finish it”, he concluded as the clamor grew louder. 

He stood there for a few seconds basking in the warmth of their support. Sansa looked at Jon with admiration shining on her face. Jon is rather good at this demagoguery, she thought with approval.

He turned to her and gave her a quick nod. She understood and passed a squirming Lyra to the nursemaid who stood off to the side as Jon motioned to the crowd for silence. Then Sansa swallowed and wiped her hands discreetly on her gown before she began to address the audience.

“I know all of you have grown weary of this prolonged and perceived threat to Winterfell. But I assure you that the threat is still both credible and imminent. Yes, we can count on the combined forces of both the north and the south to push back and hopefully destroy the enemy with all their might. And, the gods willing, they will prevail. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t do our part. You are all still loyal servants of House Stark. As your liege, I expect you to continue to carry out your duties but keep a wary eye on your surroundings. We must not ever grow complacent and expect others to defend us when we are more than capable of defending ourselves”, she said with alacrity. 

And thus endeth the lesson, muttered Sansa under her breath as the crowd slowly began to disperse. Jon hoisted Torrhen on to his shoulders while Sansa lingered to speak with the nursemaid.

When she caught up with Jon in the corridor he was deep in conversation with Val. They were speaking in hushed tones as Torrhen played quietly at his father’s feet. Sansa watched as Jon nodded and patted Val’s shoulder before he noticed Sansa standing nearby. He beckoned to her. 

“Val has decided, and I have agreed, that she will remain at Winterfell”, he said before reaching down to lift up Torrhen on to his shoulders once again. Torrhen gave his mother an impish grin as he grabbed at his father’s shoulders to steady himself. 

“Think of me as the first recruit for your Queensguard”, said Val, “as long as I don’t have to do that celibate thing”. 

An all-female Queensguard sounded very appealing to Sansa. That was an idea worth considering if Jon made good on his plan to make her queen of the north.

“Welcome to the Winterfell family”, said Sansa as she stuck out her hand. Val took it and shook it vigorously before turning back to Jon. She stuck a finger in his chest while Torrhen giggled at her boldness. 

“Promise me you’ll rid of us of those white sons of bitches, Lord Snow”, she said fervently. Jon smiled at the use of his proper name.

“I’ll do my best”, he replied. 

Val withdrew her finger as her face softened.

“You know…you’re not the same withdrawn boy with a chip on his shoulder, anxious to prove his worth. I rather like the new Jon Snow and I reckon it’s down to her”, she said with a nod in Sansa’s direction.

Jon gave Sansa a sheepish grin and nodded while Sansa beamed back at him.

“Shall I…?” asked Sansa as she held out her arms to Torrhen. Jon lifted their son off his shoulders and passed him over to her.

“Kiss your papa goodbye, little soldier”, said Sansa as Jon leaned in for a hug. Torrhen gave his father a quick peck before sliding to the floor.

“I’ll look after him while you two say farewell”, said Val as she held out her hand to Torrhen. Jon and Sansa watched the two of them leave before turning back to each other.

“This is getting old”, said Sansa drily as she leaned against his chest. 

“I agree”, replied Jon. “It’s time to end this once and for all time”. 

Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a long, lingering kiss.

“That will have to do you until you return”, she said pulling away with a sigh.

Jon’s face grew more serious.

“And what if I don’t return this time?” he asked. “I don’t think I have any more lives left. After a suitable period for mourning, would you consider taking another husband?” 

Sansa shook her head. 

“No, I’ll not risk ending up with some haughty fool seeking some submissive little cow so he can try to take away our children’s legacy”, she replied. “I expect I’ll wear widow’s weeds for the rest of my days”.

“Wouldn’t you at least like somebody to warm your bed?” he teased. 

She regarded him coolly.

“Perhaps…but who said that it needs to be a man?” she replied. He looked at her with astonishment. 

“After all”, she continued, “I already have my children. Maybe a woman with a talented tongue would be all that I require to fulfill my…needs”.

She could see Jon staring into the middle distance with a silly look on his face. She cleared her throat to get his attention.

“I appeared to have stumbled on to one of your fantasies, Lord Snow”, she growled. 

Jon flushed before recovering his composure. 

“Never mind”, she concluded briskly. “It’s all moot because you’ll be back soon enough. You will have defeated the enemy and the Targaryen supporters will be pounding on our gate”.

Jon sighed.

“Now that is something truly to be feared”, he said as he pulled her closer for a final hug.


	54. Chapter 54

Sansa watched with amazement as Val strode across to the tanner’s son, snatched the bow from his hands and snapped it in two across her knee. Then she said a few unladylike words, punctuated by wild gestures, and sent him off with a flea in his ear. She was still fuming when Sansa approached her.

“I did warn him”, said Val. “I told him that if I caught him aiming his arrow at his sister again that I would take away his weapon and tell him to clear off”.

“He’s a handful, that one”, agreed Sansa as she watched the sulky boy saunter off, no doubt to find his equally disagreeable father to complain. Oh to be a fly on the wall if a confrontation were to occur between Val and the tanner, thought Sansa gleefully. The tanner was an inarticulate oaf while Val’s tongue was often sharper than the weapons she carried. 

Val had become an unofficial master of arms at Winterfell. 

“Or perhaps mistress of arms would be more appropriate”, said Sansa, correcting herself.

“Whatever you like”, sniffed Val. “It doesn’t really matter…I don’t hold much with titles anyway”.

Val had been focusing on the children, training them is the proper use of bow, knife and spear. She deferred to the official master of arms for tutelage in swordplay.

“I know nowt about how to use a sword”, she grumbled when a young lad presented his wooden training sword to her for inspection. “But I can teach you to take down an elk from a hundred paces with just one arrow”.

Both Sansa and Val watched Sam with great interest as he approached them with a big grin on his face.

“I saw the raven, Tarly”, shouted Val. “What is the news from the front?”

“A message from Lord Reed”, he replied happily as he unfurled the message and passed it to Sansa.

She started to read it silently until Val poked her.

“Read it aloud, milady”, she whispered. “We could all use a bit of cheer”. 

“My dear Lady Sansa”, she read. “We continue to slash and burn the enemy as we push further north. The wights no longer outnumber us because, as a weapon of mass destruction, the dragon is unparalleled. The sight of Jon on his dragon, bearing down on a field of wights and laying them to waste with a single fiery breath, is a vision of such terrible beauty that it fair takes my breath away. I never thought I would find myself singing its praises but I humbly thank the gods every day for the awful beast.  
Jon has become an exceptional leader. In close combat, that bastard sword of his glows like a red beacon, imbuing us with renewed energy and determination. I truly believe that he is the one who was promised, the one who is going to lead us out of the darkness. The sun is due to rise again soon, my dear, and spring will come again.”

Sansa carefully folded up the letter and passed it back to Sam with her thanks.

“Spring still seems like such a distant memory”, she said to both of them as they trudged through the snow. Brutal winter storms had lambasted the countryside of late, coating the surroundings in a cold blanket of snow. 

Even the crannogmen were driven indoors, shivering and quaking in the face of winter’s wrath.

But, for the past three days, the sun chose to share its warmth with the world. The inhabitants of Winterfell were crawling out of their dens to breathe deep the fresh, clean air and raise their faces in thanks.

“It’s not as far off as you might think”, claimed Val. “I swear the sun feels warmer every day. And Tarly here has been tracking the times the sun rises and sets and says the hours of daylight are increasing”.

Sansa glanced at Sam who screwed up his face.

“Well”, he admitted, “it’s not by much… maybe a minute or two each day”.

“And…”Val continued, “one of the old crones says that if you press your ear against the trunks of the trees you can hear the sap trickling already”.

Sansa began to laugh at these claims as mere wishful thinking. Then, she thought more soberly, perhaps I am dismissing these signs too readily because I fear having my hopes dashed.

They parted ways with Sansa deciding that she and Torrhen were going to take advantage of such a fine day by going for a walk in the godswood. She helped him don the snow contraptions that Val had made for him when the deep winter snows were making it increasingly difficult for him to navigate the terrain. She had fashioned the creations from the branches of young saplings, bent them into the shape of a teardrop and bound them with crisscrossing strips of leather. Then she tied them to his boots. The result made it easier for him to pad across the surface of the snow instead of sinking down to his waist. 

Torrhen’s first few attempts to walk in the snow shoes had ended in tears. He had tried to tear them off in frustration until Val patiently showed him how to walk using a wider stance. Gradually he learned the art of snow walking while clinging to his mother’s hand until he was finally able to master it on his own.

The godswood was alive with the twittering of birds and the gusting of the wind as it passed between the trees. While the fresh snow swirled and danced in the breeze, the branches shook and waved. Then, with each flash of colour and lilting song, the birds shyly revealed themselves to them. Torrhen scattered seeds on the snow for the ground feeders and then held out his pudgy little hands to the birds bold enough to come close. 

While Torrhen drew pictures in the snow with a stick, Sansa leaned against a tree, closed her eyes and listened to the symphony of sound that surrounded her. For a few minutes, she heard the familiar chorus of the birdsongs until she was startled out of her reverie by a song she had not heard for so many months.

She opened her eyes and searched the branches of the sun dappled trees arrayed before her. When she heard the call again she steered her gaze in its direction and was rewarded by a sight of a bird with a reddish-orange breast and dun-coloured wings fluttering between the branches of a tall pine.

“Look, little love”, she called out excitedly to Torrhen, “it’s a robin”.

A robin, she thought happily…traditionally the harbinger of spring. If, indeed, the robins were returning to the north, surely spring must be shouldering winter aside. Sansa and Torrhen sought out the weirwood tree and leaned against it to offer their prayers for continued warmth and the promise of rebirth.

A loud rustling in the nearby trees drew them from their prayers. They could hear the snap of branches bending and breaking and then a cloud of snow floated up. They moved closer to investigate and discovered a small man brushing away snow from his heavy clothes. Then he paused to sniff at the air, like a dog sensing game before turning to greet Sansa and Torrhen. 

“Good morning, milady”, said the crannogman.

Sansa returned his greeting. 

He continued to sniff at the air, ducking and turning all the while. Sansa watched him quizzingly, her head tilted to one side. She glanced at Torrhen who was sniggering at the sight of the peculiar little man. He finally stopped and turned to them again with a grave look in his eyes.

“You need to double the guard tonight, milady”, he said. “And I will have all my men stationed around the castle on high alert”.

“What is it that has alarmed your senses?” asked Sansa.

“Death”, he replied grimly.


	55. Chapter 55

“But this is precisely why I agreed to stay”, shouted Val, banging the desk for emphasis. Sansa was startled but regained her composure as she straightened her spine in response.

“I recall you agreeing to remain as my protector, not as my gaoler”, she replied coolly. 

Val struggled with her frustration.

“Milady”, she spat out, “I promised your husband that I would stay at Winterfell to protect you and the children in the event of another attack. I merely suggested that you join Tarly and the others in the safety of the maester’s tower when that occurs. If the crannogmen are to be believed, and they haven’t led us astray in the past, then this could be more than just a small skirmish”.

Indeed, the crannogmen’s uncanny instincts for sensing the enemy had always been sound. There had been many a time when the crannogmen, as Winterfell’s first line of defense, had already dealt with and dispatched small mobs of wights long before the horns could be blown. The bonfires that subsequently ensued would often burn long into the night. 

“My home, my people, my choice”, responded Sansa firmly.

Val inhaled a noisy breath and let it out slowly while shaking her head.

“He’ll blame me if you are hurt in any way”, she said folding her arms.

Sansa smiled and shook her head in return.

“No, he won’t”, she replied, “Jon is very aware of my mulish tendencies”. 

Sansa leaned back, drumming her fingers on her desk while Val stood there audibly fuming. 

“Look…I have a compromise”, Sansa offered while leaning forward. Val unlocked her arms and looked at her skeptically.

“I’m all ears”, she growled. 

“If the wights are threatening to breach our defenses then I will retreat to the tower. Until then, I will remain on the battlements”, she said. Val still looked doubtful.

“I’ll not pretend that I can swing a sword or loose an arrow”, Sansa assured her, “but it’s important to that I be there, fulfilling my duties as liege, manning the barricades alongside everyone else. I’m no shirker…I can hold my own until the punches start flying. Then, I assure you, I have enough sense to beat a hasty retreat. I’ll not take any unnecessary risks with my life and the life of my unborn child”.

Val scoffed.

“Duty…you kneelers have a keener sense of obligation compared to the Free Folk”, she said. “Your husband was always banging on about fulfilling his duties to the realm”.

Sansa smiled.

“That’s my father’s influence”, she said. “He instilled a deep sense of honour in both of us, preparing us to make decisions for the greater good over blatant self-interest”.

“However”, she continued after a discreet cough, “we’re not fools. He also made sure that we abided by our instinct for survival…after all, Winter is Coming is my family’s motto”.

Val leaned down, planted both palms on the desk and stared directly into Sansa’s eyes.

“So, do you swear not to try to shake me off when I’m shadowing you on the battlements?” she asked.

Sansa nodded.

“And do you swear that you will leave the scene of battle when I deem it necessary?” Val asked.

“Aye”, replied Sansa meekly.

Val finally looked satisfied.

“Well, milady…I reckon this relationship is going to work out just fine”, she said before spitting on the palm of her right hand and thrusting it towards Sansa. Sansa looked surprised at the proffered hand. Then she delicately spat on her own right hand and offered it in return. Val grasped the hand and shook it firmly. 

“We have sealed an oath”, Val explained. “I don’t believe in these stupid blood oaths…spit works just as well”.

The attack came shortly after midnight but they were ready. Even the children had mobilized like battle weary veterans. 

They heard the shouts and cries from the battle walls. Then they heard the crackle of fire and saw the flames shoot up into the starry sky. The crannogmen were setting the enemy ablaze. 

Val stood by Sansa’s side like a loyal dog while Ghost flanked her on the other. They watched the archers poised on the wall with their fiery arrows nocked and ready. Val was like a coiled spring, ready to hustle Sansa off the walls and into the safety of Sam’s tower while Ghost was prepared to rip to pieces any wight that breached their defenses. 

They came lurching out of the woods a few at a time. They clustered around near the entrances and pounded on the gates. On Sansa’s orders, the archers loosed their arrows and set the wights afire. The orders were repeated as others staggered from the trees and piled into the backs of the others.

Something was different about this attack. 

“What’s wrong?”asked Val as she observed Sansa systematically scanning the area surrounding the castle with a frown on her face.

“Why do they not try to scale the walls?” wondered Sansa. “They appear to be concentrating their efforts solely on the gates, as if expecting entrance. And where are the puppet masters? Usually by now I have caught sight of the Others watching the battle silently from a safe distance. Tonight somehow feels unlike the other attacks”.

She continued to pace the walls with her guardians by her side, watching the battle unfold. While the adults poured the pitch and set the wights ablaze, the children gleefully pitched rubble over the sides while others, testing out their newly acquired skills, loosed fiery arrows with some degree of accuracy.

This is too easy, thought Sansa nervously. This was more of a massacre than a battle. Surely this is just the beginning of something more ominous. But as the numbers of wights dwindled to nothing, she had to concede that the attack appeared to be finished. 

The fires slowly died down until there was little evidence left of the confrontation except for the blackened snow. 

She could hear the shouts and cheers from the surrounding countryside before spotting the crannogmen emerge from the woods. She met them with them just as the gate was straining to open to admit them. They were joking and laughing together as they streamed past her. She stopped one of the men, the one she met up with earlier in the day.

“Any losses to report?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Not tonight, milady”, he replied as a smile split his face. “This was more of a dawdle than in the past”.

“Aye”, said Sansa in agreement, “they didn’t appear to be attacking us this time. It was almost as if they came in response to some distant memory…as if they were simply trying to get home”.

“I’ve seen it before”, he said with a nod, “herd instinct…like the animals”.

Sansa could see that the man was impatient to join his compatriots.

“I expect you’ll be celebrating tonight”, she said.

“Aye”, he replied, “it’s over”. 

Sansa pondered the ambiguity of his words. They sounded so final and yet she felt the need for clarification.

“So, the battle is finally won” she said. 

“Aye, milady”, he replied, “and so is the war”.


	56. Chapter 56

Sansa slipped off her best shoes and leaned down to rub her swollen ankles. As she did so, the baby started to kick furiously. She immediately abandoned her ankles and redirected her hand to the right side of her swollen belly, rubbing concentric circles and gently pushing the baby inside towards the middle. To her relief, the baby slowly moved and appeared to settle back to sleep.

As she straightened up, she listened with some amusement to the Riverlander nearby telling his version of Jon’s final battle with the Great Other. Sansa had already heard the oft repeated tale many times over, each time with a little more embellishment. If the latest account was to be believed, Jon had wielded a sword six feet long, developed arms like tree trunks and Rhaegal was the size of Winterfell. As the man finished his story, with hands gesticulating wildly, she felt a light tap on her shoulder.

“You look tired, my dear”, commented her great-uncle. “Perhaps you should consider retiring for the night. I’ll supervise this lot…I’ll make sure they’ll get off to bed without breaking anything”.

She rested her cheek gratefully on the Blackfish’s hand before reaching up to clasp it with her own. She nodded and began to rise, taking his proffered hand to balance herself. He then slipped his arm under hers to escort her to her rooms. 

“You know”, he said as he kindly patted her hand, “three children in such a short period of time is a lot for a woman to bear. Perhaps your man should exercise a little restraint and leave you be for a while …give you some time to let your body recover”.

She stopped and looked at her great-uncle before bursting into laughter. 

“You’re assuming, nuncle, that he’s the only lusty partner in this marriage”, she chortled. The Blackfish blushed and shook his head with embarrassment. Sansa leaned over to deliver a kiss on his reddened cheek. 

“I appreciate your concern”, she murmured, “but apart from the fatigue and a few swollen bits I’m still young and healthy. As long as I’m willing, and the gods continue to bless us, then I expect to have more children. After all, it’s imperative that we rebuild the Stark name”.

“Well, if worse comes to worse then he could always follow the Targaryen tradition and take another wee wife to share the childbearing duties”, he said as he tugged at her hand. She looked at him in disbelief until she saw the twinkle in his eyes. She shook her head with laughter.

“Lands’ sake, nuncle…Jon can barely cope with one wife telling him what to do. I can’t imagine how cornered he would feel with two ordering him about”, she said as they continued down the corridor.

When they arrived at her rooms, Sansa thanked her great-uncle for his solicitousness. He turned to her before leaving with one final inquiry.

“Has there been any word from the Citadel?” he asked. Sansa looked uncomfortable.

“Nothing but unsubstantiated rumours, so far”, she replied, “but I’ll be sure to let you know of any official announcement”.

He nodded and hugged her goodnight before returning to the great hall.

As she lay quietly in bed watching the baby’s limbs move under the taut skin of her belly, Sansa ruminated over the events of the past few weeks. The Blackfish’s visit was only the latest in a seemingly endless parade of lords and their men stopping off at Winterfell to pay their respects to the lady of Winterfell as the slow process of demobilization continued.

Jon had yet to return to Winterfell. He was busy overseeing the turnover of the castles of the Night’s Watch to the Iron Bank as repayment for financing the war. Part of the terms was that some of the fortresses would be repaired and refurbished for occupation by the Free Folk who chose to remain as part of Westeros. A thousand-year lease was delicately negotiated along with the construction of glass gardens and the establishment of trade relations. And, in time, the Gift would also be repopulated, as sanctioned by the bank.

Although there had been no official word from the Citadel as to the validity of the marriage contract, Jon had already reported overtures from shadowy figures since the war ended. As Rhaegar’s only living heir, they urged him to consider wresting power from the Lannisters. They insisted that the dragons were the natural rulers of Westeros, not the lions who had made a hash of things with a series of ill-conceived decisions. Jon was tempted to dismiss their entreaties outright.

“I’ll not sit that poxy throne”, he wrote. “Aerys no doubt cursed it before dying at the hands of the Kingslayer”.

Upon learning of these suitors, she wrote to beg him not to refuse their advances. We might be able to use their support to further our own agenda, she reasoned. After all, Jon’s reputation as a war hero combined with the pending revelation of his legitimacy made him a potent force. In some circles he was already considered a demi-god. 

“I won’t be a mask for some cabal of devious men seeking to satisfy their lust for power and control”, he warned. 

Nobody is going to manipulate us, she assured him. We are the masters of our own fate and we will make decisions that meet our ambitions and nothing more. 

“Control your headstrong nature and your sense of righteous indignation”, she cautioned in her reply. “And for the sake of us all, Jon…hold your tongue until I have had a chance to meet with them myself”. 

Sansa finally fell into a fitful sleep after her mind stopped reeling and the baby stopped kicking. She awoke late, almost missing the departure of the Blackfish and his men for the Riverlands. 

“Take care of yourself and the wee ones”, he said as he gave her one more squeeze goodbye. “And tell that husband of yours that he needs to come home as soon as possible. He regrets missing Lyra’s birth and said more than once that he was determined not to miss the birth of this little one”.

“Gods willing he still has time, despite how large I appear to be”, she dimpled. “Now…away with you before you start to lose the light”. He chuckled as he mounted his horse and waved farewell.

She spent the next few days in blissful, domestic peace. Unburdened by visitors, she let down her hair and gathered up her mending. The infant clothing needed repairs while some of Jon’s garments were beyond repair. He will need new clothes when he returns, she decided…clothes befitting a man who is regarded as no less than the saviour of the north and beyond. 

She was humming softly to herself as she sewed when she heard the rap at the door. It was Sam and judging by the look on his face she was able to guess his news.

“So it’s true, then”, she said as she stuck her needle into the cloth. Sam nodded. 

“The Citadel has sent out messages to all the major and minor houses. Jon is a Targaryen”, he replied. 

“Well”, she sighed. “There will be many that will be overjoyed by the news. But my fear is that there is an equal number of others who will be very displeased by this revelation. And that, dear Sam, could put a target very neatly on Jon’s back”.


	57. Chapter 57

Sansa rearranged the pillows for the third time while Jon stood by with a bemused expression on his face. 

“You know”, he said as she punched at a pillow, “we don’t have to do this tonight. In fact, we can wait until after the baby is born and Sam says it’s safe to resume relations”. 

Sansa straightened up and pressed the palms of her hands into the small of her back, stretching backwards slightly. Then she turned to Jon looking crestfallen.

“You do not wish to share my bed tonight?” she asked as her lower lip quivered. “Do you find me that unattractive?”

Jon looked taken aback.

“Sansa”, he sputtered, “you know that is not what I meant. It’s just that you look exhausted and unwell”. 

He moved in behind her and drew his arms around her shoulders. Then he pushed aside a lock of hair and kissed the side of her neck. 

“I could never stop desiring you…you must know that by now”, he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.

“Even though I’m the size of an aurochs and just as bad tempered?” she retorted. 

He sighed and laid his chin on her shoulder and splayed his fingers across her belly. 

“You look like the fertility goddess worshiped by the inhabitants of the Summer Islands”, he whispered.

She turned to him with a smile playing on her lips.

“And what do you know of the religious rites of the Summer Islanders?” she asked.

“Contrary to what you may have heard I do know things, Sansa”, he replied. “I read it about them in a book when we were children”. 

“I don’t recall such a book in the library at Winterfell”, she said. 

Jon looked slightly embarrassed.

“It was from Maester Luwin’s private collection”, he explained. “Robb and I used to steal into his study to borrow it from time to time”.

She arched one eyebrow.

“And besides the religious practices of the people of the Summer Islands, what else in the book interested you and Robb that the pair of you felt compelled to dip into this book repeatedly?” she asked, suspecting the answer already.

“Well, it did have rather splendid and detailed illustrations of scantily dressed women”, he chuckled.

Sansa appreciated his candor.

“My word, you were a naughty pair”, she said. “Did you ever get caught?” 

“Aye”, he answered with chagrin, “Maester Luwin found us with it behind the stables when we were late for our lessons one day. He boxed our ears and shooed us off. But I swear, on our children’s lives, that he winked at us as he confiscated the book. And he never told your parents about our transgression.”

“For a few years I used to dream of traveling over the warm waters to the Summer Islands”, he continued as he ran his fingers lightly up and down her arms. “I would sail around the islands, making my fortune and marrying a dark haired girl with sloe eyes and ebony skin.”

“And why didn’t you?” teased Sansa.

“It was never in the cards”, he replied with a shrug and an exaggerated sigh. “Instead I was fated to remain in Westeros and marry a pale redhead with eyes like the sky on a clear day, who suffers from chilblains and loves to warm her cold feet on the small of my back”.

“Take me to bed, Jon”, she said as she elbowed him gently in the ribs, “before I change my mind”.

He helped her clamber on to the bed before joining her. While she propped herself up against the pile of pillows, Jon undressed and pitched his clothes to the floor. As he knelt on the bed, naked as the day he was born, he couldn’t help but notice the slight look of disappointment on her face. 

“What?” he demanded, his arms akimbo and a frown creasing his forehead.

“Well, with all the tall tales being told of your prowess on the battlefield, I half expected you to have become more… enhanced”, she replied with a cheeky smile. 

“My lady”, he said in mock indignation, “it is very unseemly for you to criticize a member of the Targaryen family for its perceived shortcomings. As I recall, little Jon has never failed to satisfy you in the past and will, I promise, continue to do so in the future. But, most importantly, what really matters, my lady, is not size but quality”. 

He concluded his short speech with a brief, dignified bow while Sansa giggled hysterically. Then he dropped on to the bed beside her and reached for her hand.

“I’m pleased I can still make you laugh”, he murmured as he kissed her fingertips. 

“Oh, Jon”, she said with a sigh, “you do manage to take me out of myself sometimes”.

He reached down to pick up one of her feet and proceeded to massage the sole. Then he switched to the other while Sansa relaxed and made contented sounds.

Jon continued to massage her legs, soothing her tired muscles, focusing on the backs of her knees where she felt the most pleasure. As his fingers traveled closer to her inner thighs, her breathing began to quicken. Then he dipped his head and gave the sensitive skin a lick. She moaned in appreciation and pulled her shift up higher.

He grinned and slipped his hands underneath her buttocks to give him greater purchase. When he dipped his head again he slid his tongue up further until he reached the apex of her curls. Then he paused.

“Don’t stop now”, she murmured happily.

He was relentless in making her feel boneless with pleasure. She hadn’t felt so light in several moons. She gripped the furs tightly to ground herself, fearful she might float away at a moment’s notice. 

He hovered over her, the love shining in his eyes, when she came for the second time. She felt his hardness against her thighs and she looked at him with concern.

“How are we…?” she started to ask. He shook his head.

“We don’t have to”, he replied as he sat back on his heels.

She struggled to sit up, grabbing his forearm to provide leverage.

“Oh, yes we do”, she said with determination. Huffing with exertion, she turned herself around until she was resting face forward into her mountain of pillows. 

“Jon…are you still there?” she asked, her voice muffled. She heard him chuckle.

“I’m still here, sweetheart”, he replied. 

She reached behind to guide him in. Within minutes, she felt him gasp as he reached his climax and then lean panting against her back.

They soon fell into a restful sleep with Sansa surrounded by her pillows and Jon snoring peacefully on the far side of the bed. 

Sansa woke up in the middle of the night, plagued by the need to make water. She shuffled across the cold stone floor towards the privy. But before she could reach the door she felt some moisture trickle between her legs. She uttered an oath and cursed her weakened bladder, sopping up the moisture with the hem of her shift. 

She turned towards the wardrobe to grab another garment to wear when she felt more moisture gush between her legs, soaking her shift and puddling on the floor around her feet.

“Jon”, she croaked. There was silence. 

She cleared her throat and spoke louder.

“Jon”, she cried out more sharply. She could hear him jerk awake and see him sit up in confusion.

“Sansa?” he said as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“The baby’s coming”, she gasped as she doubled over in pain.


	58. Chapter 58

Sansa heard her scream echoing around the bedchamber until it finally died on her lips. Then she closed her eyes and flopped back amongst the pillows, panting heavily. 

“You’re close…so close”, she heard Sam say as he leaned in to whisper into her ear. She gave him a little smile but her eyes remained resolutely shut. 

She balled up her fists and leaned forward as the pain surged again, building higher to an excruciating level. 

“This”, she muttered through gritted teeth as she bore down, “is so much harder than the last time”. 

She let out a strangled howl… a long, drawn out guttural sound that seemed to rip out of her chest. She could feel the tears streaking down her face and the saliva dribbling from the corners of her mouth. She felt like a dying animal. 

She glanced at the midwife who was poised between Sansa’s parted legs. The woman was unsmiling as she kept her eyes fixed for signs of the emerging child.

Sansa felt the pain begin to build once more. She doubled over and gripped the furs so tightly she could feel her fingernails pierce the skins. Then she bore down and screamed until her vocal chords were dry and without purpose. 

She heard a yelp of triumph and a smile split the midwife’s face as she pulled the baby from the birth canal. Sansa lay back in exhaustion and grabbed at Sam as he brushed past. She gazed at him mutely as she listened to the baby take its first breath. 

“It’s a girl”, he said as he patted her shoulder. “Well done, Sansa”.

The midwife deftly cleaned off the squalling newborn and wrapped her in linens before presenting her to her mother. Sansa cooed to her daughter as she gathered her in her arms and stroked her cheek gently with her thumb.

But then, without warning, a sudden groundswell of pain fairly took her breath away. She intensified her grip on her daughter as she wheezed in agony.

“Somebody, please take the baby before I crush her”, she gasped as her daughter began to wail anew. The midwife snatched up the baby girl and placed her in the cradle before Sansa pressed her hands hard against her belly, riding a crest of immeasurable pain.

As the pain abated, she panted and stared unbelieving at the blood that was oozing from between her thighs. The midwife let out a shrill cry and scooped up some linens to staunch the blood while Sam grabbed his medical bag and began to root through it frantically.

“Why is there so much blood?” murmured Sansa in confusion. She had never seen so much blood before pouring out of her own body. She looked on helplessly as the two shouted at each other.

“What is happening?” she began to ask until she heard her voice fade into the distance. It was replaced by a roar, like a wave charging towards the shore. Above it all she could hear a high-pitched whine that refused to stop no matter how vigorously she shook her head. Her feet and hands were tingling and her tongue felt numb. She looked around the room in a panic. She could see people in motion but their voices sounded like they were coming from the bottom of a well.

Val’s face floated into view. Her face was constricted with fear and apprehension. She leaned in to cup Sansa’s face and spoke words that were incoherent to Sansa’s ears. Then Val nodded at Sam before she disappeared from sight. 

Sansa closed her eyes for what seemed like an eternity. When she opened them again she saw Jon’s face. His eyes were filled with tears which streamed down his cheeks and it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t seen him cry since they were children. He was holding somebody’s hand and she realized, with a shock, that it was hers. She no longer had any feeling in her arms and legs. Black splotches danced before her eyes and she blinked rapidly to try and make them go away. Her vision began to blur as the contours of Jon’s face became fuzzy and indistinct.

Am I…dying? She pushed away the thought as she experienced renewed pain that throbbed in her belly, spreading like a disease. She opened her mouth to cry “enough” and then her world went completely black.

She found herself floating in an endless void. She felt free and weightless, no longer burdened by pain and fear. She had little sense of herself… unsure of her dimensions… unaware of a beginning and an end. She knew she existed and little else as her senses reached out to find…nothing. 

Then she finally heard something. It was faint, at first, but she knew it well. It was a voice that had imprinted itself on her forever. It was a voice that called to her from her past, her present and her future. It begged for a response, like a wolf howling in the night for its mate. 

“Sansa, love”, she heard it say, “please, please, please wake up”.

She swam up out of the darkness with renewed energy. She kicked and powered her arms as she moved towards his voice. And when she broke through the surface of her consciousness, she forced her eyes to flutter open before she took in a gulp of sweet, tangy air. 

“Welcome back”, said Jon hoarsely. 

She slowly turned towards his voice. His face was haggard and his eyes were red and ringed with dark circles but to her he was a most beautiful sight to behold.

She struggled to raise herself from her bed but he pushed back on her shoulders, forcing her to remain prone. 

“Sam says you must remain in bed for a few more days so you can properly heal. In the meantime, there is still the risk of developing an infection but we are all doing our best to make sure you stay healthy” he explained calmly.

The chair legs scraped the floor as he sat down again and raised her hand. He cradled it against his cheek and his lips grazed her knuckles. 

“We almost lost you, Sansa”, he murmured softly. 

She tried to present a smile which she hoped was both reassuring and self-deprecating.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily”, she croaked. 

Her eyes roamed around the room, taking in the beams of light that broke through the cracks in the shutters, hearing the daily sounds of life beyond these inner walls. Her gaze stopped when her eyes rested upon the empty cradle by the fireplace. She suddenly felt the colour drain from her face and her heart began to pound.

“Where is she?” she whispered loudly as she clutched at his shirt. “Jon, please tell me our baby is not dead”.

“She’s fine”, he replied soothingly. “She’s with her brothers and sister in the nursery”.

It took her a few seconds to register his use of the plural. Her eyes opened wide and her lips parted as if ready to pose a question. He smiled and leaned over to kiss her, his breath warming her cheek.

“There was another…her twin. Sam said he must have been positioned behind her so their combined heartbeats sounded as one. He’s much smaller but appears to be healthy enough and I’ll wager that, in time, he’ll match her in every way”, he said.


	59. Chapter 59

For Sansa, this tourney paled in comparison to the tourneys of her childhood. Those tourneys were on a much grander scale with each house represented by its most talented warriors who fought in gleaming armour and rode magnificent steeds. Sansa reveled in the colour and drama of these events. It was an opportunity to mingle with members of the other families, show off her pretty gowns that her mother had made for the occasion and flirt outrageously with the young bucks eager to show off their carefully honed skills, both on and off the field of battle. A rich banquet and ceremony always concluded the tourney, an opportunity for the host family to make an ostentatious display of its wealth and power. 

This was a far more drab affair, apart from the sagging bunting that had been hung along the temporary fence that separated the participants from the onlookers. The cordoned off area was a mixture of mud and snow, there was no grand dais festooned with flowers and the attending crowd were hardly dressed in their finest clothes. But the mood of the crowd was festive…even the grey, overcast skies couldn’t dampen their spirits.

Sansa surveyed the scene and watched the vendors hawking their wares as people wandered past. In the distance, she could hear the clanging of swords, the chunking of the arrows hitting their mark and the clapping and shouts of approval as the matches wore on.

Edwyn stirred slightly in her arms. She bent down to kiss his dark thatch of hair, which ruffled in the breeze, and rearranged the furs around his sweet face. Then she glanced over at the nursemaid to check on Alysane who was still awake and alert. The baby stared at the nursemaid with serious blue eyes as the woman crooned softly and stroked Alysane’s downy, silvery hair. Then Sansa noticed the child’s eyelids start to droop and knew that it wouldn’t be long before she joined her brother in slumber. 

The crowd parted enough so that Sansa was able to spot Jon pressed up against the fence. She smiled at his indulgence when she saw Torrhen and Lyra’s sticky faces. The sweetmeats vendor will no doubt be very pleased with today’s takings, she reckoned. Lyra rode her father’s shoulders and was playing a game of peekaboo, covering and uncovering Jon’s eyes while giggling loudly. Torrhen sat precariously on the fence, quietly observing the swordplay with a look of intensity Sansa had often seen on Jon’s face. She realized that in only a few short years Torrhen would be old enough to begin his own training. 

As she drew closer, she could see the combatants swinging their swords, grunting with each thrust and parry. The onlookers collectively gasped as one opponent came dangerously close to skewering the other. Her eyes darted anxiously to Jon as he started to raise his arm to call a halt to the match until the two young men, panting and wheezing, stopped their fight. They stood with their swords hanging limply by their sides, collecting their breath, while they considered how perilously close the match came to ending in tragedy. Then one of the men glanced at Jon who nodded his assent and the men raised their swords again to continue doing battle.

She caught Jon’s eye when he looked in her direction. His face registered surprise and then he smiled as he tapped Torrhen on his shoulder and pointed to her. Torrhen gave her a happy grin and waved while Lyra clapped her hands with delight. Then, with Jon’s steadying hand at his back, Torrhen carefully climbed down from the fence and dropped to the ground to scramble after his father and sister as they weaved through the crowd towards Sansa and the babies.

“I thought you intended to give this event a swerve”, Jon said as he leaned over to give her a kiss. “When I left you were still sleeping peacefully”. 

“We were feeling a little cooped up so we decided to join you”, she replied. 

Lyra was leaning down with an outstretched hand, straining to touch her baby brother’s head. 

“Be gentle, Lyra”, cautioned Sansa. 

Jon ducked down slightly so Lyra could reach out to gently pat Edwyn’s thick head of hair. The baby opened one violet eye and yawned before falling back to sleep. 

“Where is Val?” she asked as she scanned the crowd for signs of her.

Jon glanced over to another corner of the yard.

“She’s supervising the archery competition”, he replied, “and cheering on some of her more special students”.

All girls, no doubt, thought Sansa. It broke Val’s heart when some of the older girls grew bored with loosing arrows until their fingers were sore and calloused and abandoned archery for more ladylike pursuits. But she still commanded a small band of girls whose devotion to her was touching. 

Sansa briefly looked at the two combatants that continued to battle it out before turning back to Jon.

“Are you considering entering the ranks yourself?” she asked.

Jon shook his head and ran his fingers through Torrhen’s curls. 

“No, I don’t feel compelled to prove anything anymore. I’ll step aside and let the younger lads strut their stuff today”, he replied. 

Sansa shook her head.

“You surprise me, Jon Snow”, she said as she poked him in the belly, “because I believe that the day a man such as yourself ceases to feel the need to prove himself to the world is the day that he begins to turn into Robert Baratheon”.

Jon visibly stiffened and she saw his hand drop to Longclaw’s pommel at his side.

“Perhaps a skirmish or two would be good exercise”, he decided. “It’s important to keep up my skills”. 

Sansa nodded sagely.

“And it might be good to give the people a bit of a show when they see that blade flashing red. It will remind them of how much of their present security they owe to you”, she replied.

He lifted Lyra off his shoulders and lowered her to the ground before squatting down before his older son. 

“C’mon, Torrhen”, he said as he held out his hand, “you can help me with my gear”. 

Torrhen nodded solemnly and then giggled as his father lifted him up and swung him over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Lyra frowned in disappointment as she watched the pair of them disappear into the crowd.

Sansa knew there was no danger that Jon would ever become a fat, complacent fool like King Robert. But she did know that Jon’s song was far from being finished. And if they were ever going to break the ties that bound them to Kings Landing then they had to stay lean and fighting fit. 

Sansa took Lyra’s hand as they wandered over to the archery arena where Val was gathering up the arrows that fell short of their mark while the next set of competitors flexed their bow arms. She looked up and grinned broadly when Sansa and the children came into view. 

Lyra broke away from her mother’s grasp and threw her arms around Val’s legs, pinning her in place. Val looked confused at first and then reached down to disentangle herself from Lyra’s arms. Then she knelt down and ruffled the toddler’s hair while Lyra danced a little two-step.

“I expect you’ll be one of my students in a few years”, she laughed before straightening up. She looked at Sansa as if she had overstepped her mark.

“With your parents’ permission, of course”, she added hastily. 

Sansa beamed at her.

“I’m pleased that you plan on staying with us long term”, she said graciously. “And, yes…I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Lyra did decide to take up archery…if she ever develops any patience and can learn to stand still”. 

A roar went up from the crowd after a few minutes and they hastened over to the arena to find out the source of the clamor. Jon had entered the ring, clad in his training garb and swinging Longclaw back and forth. Torrhen stood on the lowest rung of the fence, yelling his support from the sidelines. It occurred to Sansa that this was the first time Torrhen would be witnessing his father’s skill with a blade.

Jon’s opponent was the Master of Arms for Winterfell, the only man who had enough skills to take on Lord Snow. He looked uneasily at Jon, already poised in his fighting stance with his arm at the ready. The signal to begin was issued and the two began to spar. 

With every thrust and parry, Sansa could see why Jon had earned his reputation as a formidable fighter. His style was a unique blend of northern blunt force and southern graceful elegance. The master was soon on the defense, puffing and backing away as Jon lunged at him. After a quick flurry of exchanges the master’s sword was knocked from his hand to the ground. The master stood in stunned silence rubbing his wrist while Jon circled patiently, waiting for a rematch. 

After two more bouts it was clear that Jon was the superior fighter and was declared the winner of this event. He graciously turned down the purse, instead turning it over to the runner-up. But when it came to awarding the prize of the Queen of Love and Beauty, he chose to accept the honour.

Sansa blushed when she heard the catcalls and whistles as Jon approached her with the crown made of blue and yellow crocuses entwined together. Val gently took Edwyn from her arms before Jon laid the crown of flowers on her head.

“Thank the gods they’re not blue roses”, she whispered to him with a smile.

The crowd cheered and stomped their feet as the lord and lady of Winterfell embraced. 

They didn’t see the sentry approach until the crowd began to disperse. His face was neutral but he walked with some urgency. 

“Milady”, he said after clearing his throat. “There is a group of men at the gate requesting admittance”.

The smile faded from Sansa’s lips. 

“Well, did they give you their names?” she asked coldly. 

The sentry looked uncomfortable and glanced at Jon who was staring at the man with a puzzled expression on his face.

“They…they refused claiming the need for secrecy as there are spies everywhere…even here in the north”, he stammered.

“However”, he added, rubbing his sweaty palms on his breeches, “one of them did say to tell you that they are here to speak to Jon Targaryen on a matter most private”.


	60. Chapter 60

Two men were ushered into Sansa’s solar. The other members of their party were left under the watchful eye of Winterfell’s sentries after having surrendered their weapons.

As they shrugged off their furs, Sansa examined them more closely. The younger of the two men had a swarthy complexion, dark hair and even darker eyes which darted about the room. His left hand hovered nervously over his empty scabbard. The older man was fair with light brown hair, a heavily lined face and eyes which appeared to have seen much sorrow. Their clothing was somewhat foreign-looking, more brightly coloured than the usual dark, heavy Westerosi garments.

Sansa bade them sit while she offered them refreshments. As she poured them each a goblet of wine, Jon loomed behind her with a scowl on his face. 

“I believe introductions are in order, sers”, she said. The older man nodded as he reached inside the pocket of his tunic to retrieve a folded letter.

“This should serve as an introduction, my lady and my lord”, he replied as he handed it to her with a perfunctory bow. His deep voice was smooth and modulated, and inflected with an accent she couldn’t quite place. 

Sansa scanned the letter quickly with eyebrows raised in surprise before passing it to Jon. Then she patted the seat of the chair next to her as a gesture for Jon to sit down. Then she leaned forward.

“Please forgive my husband’s air of hostility but this is not the first time he has received mysterious visitors of late”, she said. “May I ask what brings a couple of Dornish merchants to Winterfell? More importantly…why the subterfuge?” 

The two men looked at each other briefly. Then the younger man nodded, indicating that the older man should be the one to tell the tale.

“We’ve recently journeyed from White Harbour where we were the guests of Lord Manderly”, he explained. “We were in the process of arranging some business transactions when we received word from Dorne that we should depart posthaste to deliver an important message to both of you”. 

“And what might that be?” asked Sansa with curiosity.

The man’s eyes darted to Jon’s face.

“We’ve come to warn you of a plot to have Lord Snow assassinated”, he replied. 

Jon’s face darkened in anger and he clenched his fists.

“Who is the instigator of this plan?” he asked bluntly.

“The threat comes from the Queen Regent, my lord,” he answered. 

Jon rose up suddenly and began to pace the floor while Sansa looked ill at ease.

“How credible is this information?” she asked. ‘Who is the source?”

The man hesitated before replying, uncertain as to whether he should be passing on such details.

“Let me just say that the source is credible, my lady”, he replied, “Dorne has spies deep within the Red Keep”. 

“Why?” demanded Jon as he stopped to face the men.

“Your reputation is growing by leaps and bounds, my lord. The small folk sing praises of your prowess and there is talk, albeit idle, of it being high time to return to the glory days of the Targaryen Empire. And…meanwhile, Lord Tywin is dying”, he explained. “Word has it he won’t live beyond the turn of the next moon. In a flurry, the Queen Regent is consolidating her power and tightening her control over her son. She has already dismissed or imprisoned many of the advisors appointed by her father and replaced them with men loyal to her.”

Sansa rose to her feet. 

“Is there more?” she asked. The two men looked at each other before shaking their heads in reply.

“Thank you for this information, sers”, she said as she proffered her hand. “My husband and I will now have to discuss a course of action in private”.

The older man seized her hand and shook it warmly.

“Please believe me when I say that whatever you decide to do, Dorne will stand behind you. We have no love for the Lannisters…we pray for their downfall for what they did to Princess Elia and her children”, he said. “Dorne will get its revenge in the end”.

“I don’t doubt it”, replied Sansa. “Please join us anon for the evening repast. We are holding a feast in celebration of today’s match. I will also make arrangements for your accommodation for the evening”.

The two men gave a short bow.

“We would be honoured to attend, my lady”, the older man replied. “And we are grateful for your hospitality”.

“It’s the least we could do under the circumstances”, said Sansa as she clasped his hand with both of hers in a gesture of gratitude.

After the door closed, Sansa leaned against it and regarded her husband silently. His face was black as thunder and she could almost swear that she could see smoke unfurling from his nostrils. 

“What do you want to do?” she finally asked. Jon glanced up.

“Right now?” he raved. “Right now I would love nothing more than mount Rhaegal, fly to King’s Landing and burn the bitch alive”.

She watched his hand hover above the pommel of his sword, his fingers flexing unconsciously.

Sansa shook her head.

“That would be…unwise”, she replied mildly. 

Jon swore an oath and threw his empty goblet to the floor. 

“And acting like a child who has been relieved of his favourite toy won’t help us either”, she commented as she crossed the room to take him in her arms. 

He wrapped his arms around her tightly and she could feel him shaking slightly with barely contained rage.

“Then what would you suggest because I’m too fucking angry to think rationally right now”, he growled, his voice muffled as he buried his face in her shoulder.

“I…I may have a solution”, she whispered into ear, “but it begins with a confession”.

He pulled back and looked at her with curiosity.

Sansa flushed as she studied the floor. Then she straightened up and looked Jon square in the face.

“I lied”, she blurted out. “I lied when I told you that I told you that it was Ser Donnel Waynwood and his men who accompanied me home to Winterfell. In truth, it was Jaime Lannister who released me from the Eyrie and brought me home”. 

Jon searched her eyes with intensity and she could see his upper lip curled in an expression of disgust. His hands still rested on her shoulders but he had backed away from her slightly.

“Did you lie to preserve your feelings or mine?” he asked. 

“Both, I guess”, she replied with a sigh. “I…I know how much you hated him…how much we hated him for what he did, what they all did to my father”.

“What compulsion drove him to find you and take you home?” he asked as he dropped his hands to his side.

Sansa reached out, took one of his hands and squeezed it gently. 

“He was honouring an oath he made to my mother to seek me out and return me to her”, she answered. 

Jon looked to the ceiling with a roll of his eyes. 

“I didn’t think he had an honourable bone in his body”, he scoffed. 

“He felt a need to atone for all the misery he and his family had caused. His journey to take me home was his path to redemption”, she explained. 

She gave him a few seconds to absorb this admission before continuing her tale.

“He stayed at Winterfell for a couple of moons to help me start the process of rebuilding. And, who knows, he might have stayed longer or he might have moved on. In the end, the decision was made for him the day he was beset by a pack of wolves, led by a large she-wolf, and he was torn to pieces. It was a gruesome sight…his bloody limbs were strewn across the forest floor, half-gnawed in a frenzy. We gathered up what we could find and laid his bones to rest near the sept with a cairn of rocks piled on top to mark the grave”.

She caught her breath while Jon uttered a short, brittle laugh.

“Ironic isn’t it?” he chortled. “…the lion devoured by wolves”.

She nodded silently, gulping back her tears, before continuing her story.

“I went through his possessions and found a packet of letters tied up with ribbons of red and gold”, she said as she looked up. “They were letters from Cersei to Jaime. They were brittle but still intact. My heart was racing as I read them”.

He looked at her blankly, clearly not fully comprehending the significance of her find. She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him towards her.

“Jon…listen to me”, she said carefully. “We can use them to stop her”.


	61. Chapter 61

Sansa could hear the screeches in the corridor growing louder until the door burst open and Lyra flew into the room. Her hair was in disarray and her gown was soiled. 

“Lyra”, she scolded her, “keep your voice down or you’ll upset the babies”.

The wet nurse looked up from the corner where she was feeding Alysane and smothered a smile. Lyra was a favourite amongst some of the wildling women as they loved her loud, brash and uncompromising attitude. Sansa merely sighed and shook her head, knowing full well that she had her work cut out turning her wild daughter into a proper lady. 

As Sansa laid Edwyn in his cradle, Lyra peeked over the rail and reached in to help her mother tuck the furs around his tiny body. Then she skipped over to the wet nurse’s side just as Alysane was being raised to the woman’s shoulder to be burped. Lyra patted her sister’s back enthusiastically until Alysane let out a loud belch. Lyra giggled at the noise before plopping down in the little rocking chair nearby and held out her arms in expectation. 

The wet nurse glanced at Sansa who nodded her approval. Then the woman knelt down to lay Alysane in Lyra’s arms, ensuring that the little girl held the baby appropriately. Then she leaned back on her haunches to watch keenly as Lyra gently rocked back and forth, cooing nonsensical words into her sister’s ear. 

Sansa straightened up just in time to greet the nursemaid who had returned from the kitchen. After some final instructions, including a reminder to Lyra to behave herself, she left the nursery to find out if Sam had received any more news. 

She found him at the entrance to the maester’s tower, deep in conversation with Jon. Torrhen, bored with the exchange of hushed words between the adults, was absently stroking Ghost’s fur as he leaned against him.  
Ghost’s tongue lolled to the side of his mouth as he panted quietly, patiently waiting for Jon to finish. 

“Torrhen, sweetling”, she said as she bent down before her son, “Lyra is in the nursery and could use a playmate just now”. 

Torrhen made a face and looked as if he was about to express his objections when Jon looked at him sternly. 

“Do as your mother tells you and run along”, he said as he gave Torrhen a gentle push. “It’s one of your duties as the oldest to keep your sister out of trouble”.

They watched Torrhen as he reluctantly dragged himself down the corridor until he was safely out of sight. Then Sansa turned to the other two. 

“What have you heard?” she asked. 

“Dorne is ready”, replied Sam. “They have troops massed along the border and they await your signal to invade, if necessary”.

She turned to Jon.

“And Robert?” she asked.

Jon’s lips quirked up in amusement.

“He has reluctantly agreed to join the fray this time”, he replied. “The Eyrie will not retreat into splendid isolation for this fight”. 

Sansa nodded with satisfaction.

“And what of Dickon”, she enquired of Sam.

Sam hesitated before replying.

“It’s…it’s difficult for him to ally himself with the north, this time”, he stammered slightly. “The Lannisters control the west completely. But…he says he will support us in whatever way he can as long as his actions are covert”.

Well, thought Sansa, I guess that is the best we can expect under the circumstances. 

“So”, she said as she glanced at each of them, “are we ready?”

“Aye”, replied Jon. “Though I still believe I should just feed her to Rhaegal”.

Sansa laughed.

“We have to think long term”, she said. “Though I admit it would have been a very satisfying sight to see Cersei Baratheon disappear into the maw of a dragon”.

They began to make the ascent to Sam’s quarters in the tower.

“What of Asha Greyjoy?” Sansa suddenly remembered. 

Sam turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door.

“She has upped her price but Jon’s supporters have agreed to it”, he replied as removed a pile of books from one of the chairs. “She will recruit enough privateers to blockade any ships sent by the Crown in the event of an invasion”.

“With any luck we won’t require her services but we can’t take that chance right now”, replied Sansa. 

Sam crossed over to a cabinet to withdraw a packet of yellowed letters and laid them on a table, smoothing out the folds carefully. He picked one up and passed it to Sansa.

“I think it would be appropriate to release this letter first”, he said as she and Jon scanned the letter quickly. “It definitely indicates an unusual amount of affection between the two of them without being too damning”. 

He looked uncomfortable before continuing.

“Maester Qyburn will attest to the letters being in her handwriting. He still has many samples of requests of a sensitive medical nature written in her hand for comparison. I have contacts at the Citadel who can expedite the validation process but it would still take time that we don’t have. In the meantime, we will have to rely on a disgraced maester to attest to their validity”, he said. 

Jon nodded. 

“We use what resources we have at hand first”, he said as he passed the letter back to Sam. “She’ll regret denying him the way she did”. 

Sam nodded and folded up the letter. 

“We will keep the originals here for safekeeping. A copy will be forwarded to the High Septon. The church takes a dim view of relations outside of marriage by consorts of kings so this should be sufficient to arouse their suspicions. I will then let the Queen Regent know that any further attempts on Jon’s life will cause her world to come crashing down around her as we will release all the damning evidence that her children were fathered by her brother and not her husband. If she has any sense left at all, she will do her utmost to keep these letters under wraps and urge her son to support the secession of the north”, said Sam with great relish.

“Aye”, added Jon, “but if the Crown refuses and sends troops north they’ll find themselves squeezed between two fronts. And if they come by sea then they’ll be up against Asha’s privateers who will make hay against the Royal Navy in retaliation for years of harassment and imprisonment”.

Sansa leaned against her husband with a smile of satisfaction on her face.

“It’s finally coming together, Jon”, she whispered fiercely. “Cersei’s threat is our gain”. 

She poked a finger in his chest.

“But don’t get too complacent about protection”, she said. “Ghost must continue to be at your side at all times. She might be reckless enough to send another and we can’t risk almost losing you again”.

The attempt on Jon’s life had come so swiftly, not long after the Dornishmen had departed. The assassin had come in the form of a seemingly poor farmer, offering a few sacks of grain in return for some paltry livestock. If not for Sansa’s insistence that Jon keep Ghost with him constantly, the knife might have found its place between Jon’s shoulder blades. Instead, Ghost ripped out the man’s throat and savagely tore him apart. 

This is no jape, thought Sansa. The woman is crazed with a lust for power that won’t be sated until Jon is dead and she had complete and utter control of Westeros through her juvenile son. 

“It’s time for us to leave, Jon”, Sansa said darkly. 

Jon narrowed his eyes, mistaking her words.

“What…Winterfell?” he asked in surprise.

“No”, she replied, “the realm”.


	62. Chapter 62

Sansa leaned against the wall, closed her eyes and let the music wash over her. The harpist played such sweet tones that the listeners stood by like mesmerized fools, watching his fingers weave through the strings with determination and agility, filling the great hall with his tones. When he finished with a great flourish, the hushed audience burst into spontaneous applause. It was a rare moment of civility in the rough and tumble world of the north.

As the clapping and whistles of approval began to die down, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. She reluctantly opened one eye to behold her great-uncle standing before her, resplendent in his finest clothes, his red and blue cloak fastened with a silver trout.

“Has your man not asked you to dance yet?” he asked with a concerned look on his face. 

She opened her other eye and glanced at Jon who was supping from a tankard of ale, surrounded by a group of men who were laughing and slapping him on his back. 

“My man is too busy basking in the approval of his subjects”, she replied drily. 

He shook his head and expressed dismay over Jon’s neglect then held out his hand, palm up, with a little bow.

“Then, please…allow me the honour of being your partner for this next dance”, he begged.

Sansa agreed and curtseyed gracefully before he led her on to the dance floor. The musicians struck up a lively song in three-quarter time to which the dancers skipped and leapt in a jig. When the music finished, Sansa breathlessly thanked her great-uncle for the dance as they retreated to the sidelines. 

She caught Jon’s eye as she sat down to nurse the toes that the Blackfish had inadvertently stepped on more than once. He smiled at her with so much love and joy that she flushed with pleasure under his steady gaze. 

She heard the scrape of the chair as the Blackfish returned with wine for her and ale for himself. He sat down beside her and leaned in. 

“I wish you could have been there, my dear”, he said before taking a swig of drink.

“As do I, nuncle”, she sighed as she fiddled with stem of her goblet.

“It was a stirring, sight, my girl”, he said with relish. “There we were, arrayed before a parade of king’s men…all dressed in their gleaming armour and brandishing their polished swords and silver tipped arrows…facing a ragtag army of hairy northerners threatening them with the gods know what as a weapon…battleaxes, clubs, spears, war hammers. And there was Howland stood at the forefront holding up a ridiculously long staff and declaring that none shall pass. They must have thought us mad to think we could take on such a fearsome force and win. And then, he rose up behind us on that dragon and the eyes of the king’s men grew round as saucers and their mouths formed a perfect “o”.

He took another drink and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth with a look of complete satisfaction on his face.

“Oh they had heard the tales from others but it was clear that none of them had ever witnessed such a sight before. And when Jon had the dragon lay down a long streak of fire and set the grass ablaze as a warning for them to advance no further you could see them start to sweat and quake in their boots. I could almost swear that their leaders’ hands were twitching over their horsewhips, prepared to beat their troops into lurching forward”. 

“Surely by then they were also aware that Dornish troops were streaming across the border and that Robert was closing in from the east”, she said. 

“Aye”, he replied, “but there was no way that woman’s pride was going to take a beating at the hands of some northern secessionists. Her orders must have been clear…pummel the northern bastards into submission or die trying”.

He shook his head as he threw back more ale.

“But, a dragon as a weapon of war will always prevail”, he said. “They fought back as best they could… firing a few desultory arrows at the dragon which were immediately destroyed in one fiery breath. Then they rushed at us through the burning blaze, roasting in their fine armour as Jon had Rhaegal lay down more fire”. 

Sansa momentarily thought of her grandfather and his horrible death. She felt some stirrings of sympathy for the foolish men. 

“In the end, they broke ranks, turned tail and ran…scattering to the four winds with no chance of survival”, he continued. “We chased most of them down and showed them no mercy”. 

Her attention was diverted by cries rising up through the din. 

“King of the north”, they began shouting repeatedly. They beat their fists on the tables and stomped their feet as Jon wound his way amongst them towards Sansa and the Blackfish. 

Sansa rose up and held out her hands in greeting, brushing her lips against his amidst whoops of approval.

“My queen”, murmured Jon as he wrapped his arms around her. She suppressed her giggles in a valiant attempt to look regal. His eyes were glassy and unfocused and she realized that he was quite drunk.

“Not an auspicious way to begin your reign, my liege”, she remarked as she laid a finger against his lips. He nipped at her finger and then sucked it slowly before removing it and laying her hand against his chest. 

“There will be time for sober reflection tomorrow but tonight we celebrate”, he said with a rare hazy grin.

Then he dragged her into the middle of the dance floor to swing her around in time to a fast reel as the musicians struck up another tune.

She gasped and clutched at his hands as they whirled around, bumping into the other dancers, murmuring their apologies. But nobody seemed to mind as the drink had dulled their senses and loosed all their inhibitions. 

Sansa laughed with wild abandon as tendrils of auburn hair freed themselves from her elaborate hairstyle and clung to her forehead. She felt as if she could fly and when the music ended Jon scooped her up in his arms and carried her off tenderly as if she was as light as a bird.

As he stumbled she patted him gently on his shoulder.

“Put me down, Jon”, she advised him. “You’re too far gone to be carrying me much further”.

He set her down and draped his arms across her shoulders.

“We did it, Sansa”, he whispered triumphantly. 

“Aye”, she replied with a smile, “and so it was a Targaryen king with dragons who forced the north to surrender and unified the continent under his rule. And now, centuries later, it is a Targaryen king with a dragon who has taken the north out from under the thumb of southern rule and restored its independence”. 

Then she looked at him with some uncertainty.

“But are we sure that she will not come at us again?” she asked.

Jon nodded.

“Sam has learned that she has been taken in by the Silent Sisters”, he replied, “and not willingly. But it was either that or risk execution for treason. We made it clear that we were prepared to release the letters which prove that the Kingslayer fathered all her children. So…I believe that her day is done. She isn’t so mad that she’ll risk having her remaining children declared bastards and have Tommen removed from the throne”.

Sansa was relieved that Myrcella would not have to suffer the humiliation. And Tommen, young as he was, could still prove to be a worthy leader if coached and nurtured by wiser advisors. His grandfather was mercifully dead and his great-uncle Kevan was proving to be more in favour of brokering peace with an independent northern kingdom as opposed to his obsessively vengeful grandfather. 

“So…are you ready to be crowned King Jon II of Winter?” she asked.

“Do I have much choice?” he asked solemnly. 

She shook her head and mouthed the word “no” with a smile.

“You will not deny me the opportunity to see you wear that lovely crown I had commissioned for the occasion”, she retorted sharply.

He leaned in and gave her a long, lingering kiss.

“It should have been you”, he murmured as he pulled away. “Queen Sansa, first of her name”.

She pouted briefly.

“I’ll still be queen…it just won’t be my name affixed to the bottom of warrants and proclamations”, she replied. 

“But we all know who the real power is behind the throne”, he said as he brushed her hair from her face. 

“I’m your partner, Jon”, she breathed, “in everything”.

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way”, he replied.


	63. Chapter 63

She crept into the room, carefully trying not to bump into any furniture as her only source of light was a single candle that sputtered and threatened to snuff itself out. 

She set the candle down on the table beside the bed, illuminating his face. His arm was tucked underneath his pillow and his lips were parted slightly in deep slumber. He looked so peaceful that she almost regretting intruding on his rest. 

She tossed her hair to one side as she pulled off her robe and kicked off her slippers. The floor was icy beneath her feet and she shivered slightly as she crawled underneath the furs. Then she leaned over to blow out the candle before sliding down and nestling closer to him for warmth. 

She felt him stir as he sensed her presence. Then she heard him draw a slow breath before he spoke.

“Sansa?” he asked hoarsely as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What’s wrong? Why are you here?”

“Hush”, she replied wrapping an arm around him, “everything is fine. I simply felt like coming to join you rather than returning to my own bed”.

She felt his fingers entwined in her hair as she hugged him closer.

“Edwyn?” he asked.

She nodded silently against his chest. She felt it rise and fall as he let out a sigh. 

“You know…we do have a wet nurse who could be looking after the night feeds. And I am willing to engage another, if necessary, so you can get your rest”, he said.

She buried her face in his chest, feeling the steadiness of his heart beat.

“I know”, she replied, her voice muffled. “But he needs me…his mother. Once he catches up with Alysane he’ll no longer need the extra feed”. 

“Don’t run yourself ragged”, he cautioned. “You’re still recovering from the nightmare of birthing them”.

She lifted her head and smiled. Her eyes had adjusted to gloom, the room illuminated only by the moonlight that penetrated the cracks in the shutters.

“Sam has confirmed that I am now fully healed. What’s more he says we can now resume what he calls… relations”, she said as she slipped a hand under his shirt and waggled her eyebrows. 

“Mmmmm…that is good news”, murmured Jon as her hand slid lower. Then she heard him moan as her fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt and found him already erect. 

She rose up on her knees and pulled her nightrail over her head while Jon eagerly removed his shirt. Then she mounted him, straddling his waist and leaning down to pepper his neck and shoulders with nips and kisses. He reached between her parted thighs and slid a finger along her lower lips until it found its mark. 

Sansa shuddered and whimpered as Jon circled the tiny nub with just enough pressure. She rocked her hips back and forth as she felt her peak drawing closer under Jon’s skilful fingers. And, with a strangled cry, she climaxed and fell forward to rest heaving on his chest. 

She felt his hands leave her hips and turned around to find him grasping his cock, sliding his fingers up and down to find relief. She reached out to still his hands. 

“You’ll spill inside of me…queen’s orders”, she commanded. 

Even in the dark she could just make out the concern on his face. And when he spoke she could hear the tinge of fear in his voice.

“Sansa”, he pleaded, “It’s too risky”. 

“Life is full of risks, Jon. It shouldn’t stop us from experiencing pleasure”, she said as she rose up to grasp his cock and guide it into her. But when he didn’t resist she knew that it just felt too good to be inside her again. She felt his hips rise up to meet hers as they moved together in a rollicking rhythm. And then, with one final thrust, he drove himself up and collapsed with a groan.

She slid off him and burrowed beneath the furs. She drew a finger across the width of his mouth and felt his broad smile.

“I’ve missed you”, she whispered, “and I know you’ve missed me”.

He confirmed this with a swift kiss to the top of her head before pulling her closer. 

A discreet rap on the door startled them both awake. Through bleary eyes Sansa could see that sunlight had replaced the moonlight and there were sounds of activity outside the stone walls. 

“Jon…Sansa”, said a hesitant voice from the other side of the door. It was Sam.

“The master steward came by earlier but he didn’t knock because he heard…now how did he put it…oh yes…amorous noises coming from within”, he continued.

Jon and Sansa looked at each and then moved quickly to throw on their nightclothes. Then Jon crossed the floor and wrenched open the heavy door. 

Sam glanced quickly from one to the other and his face fell.

“Oh dear”, he said. “The…the guests are beginning to assemble in the godswood for the coronation and the nursery is in chaos. The wet nurse is wondering which twin to feed first as they are both crying for their milk. And Torrhen is sulking over a toy that he alleges Lyra broke while she is refusing to wear the dress you chose for her”. 

Jon turned around to grab a pair of breeches from the back of a chair while Sansa knotted the sash of her robe. 

“Tell the cook to offer our guests food and drink in the great hall because the ceremony will be delayed by an hour. If they ask why it’s because the king and queen have some urgent domestic matters they need to attend to,” she said briskly before gently shooing him away.

He gave them each one last look concern and turned away shaking his head ruefully. 

“Right”, said Jon as he fastened his breeches and tucked in his shirt. “I’ll look after Torrhen and Lyra while you feed one of the twins”. 

“Jon”, she said as she grabbed his arm, “tell her there is no compromising on the dress. She’s very hard on her clothes and I’ll wager she has nothing else decent to wear”.

He leaned over and pecked her on the cheek.

“It won’t matter because all eyes will be on her beautiful mother”, he said as he offered her his arm. She smiled at him with uncertainty as she tucked her arm into his and then tried to look dignified as they left to deal with their recalcitrant children. 

Later, as they stood in the shade of the pale weirwood tree, its brilliant crimson leaves rustling in the breeze, Sansa gazed around her in awe at the sea of familiar and not so familiar faces before them. 

How in seven hells did it come to this, she wondered?

She turned to Jon who stood stiffly by her side. He caught her looking at him and reached out to give her hand a small squeeze. 

This wasn’t the day she initially planned. She had envisioned a long, relaxing soak in a warm tub infused with sweet smelling herbs followed by a gaggle of young women helping her to don her garments and fussing over her long hair, twisting it into a complicated arrangement that would be the envy of any southern lady. Instead, she had to make due with a lick and a promise and her hair was bound in a single braid that lay against her shoulder, adorned with daisies that Lyra had picked and tucked into the weave. 

Jon looked handsome except for the curls that threatened to engulf his face as they tossed around in the breeze. There was no time for a trim as he was busy brokering a truce between his two eldest children and persuading his older daughter that the ensemble she had chosen was completely unsuitable for such a special day. The battle was hard fought but Jon won in the end. Fortunately, Lyra did not appear to harbour any resentment and now sat placidly at her mother’s feet, poking daisies into her own unbound hair and staring with dismay as they fell to the ground.

Torrhen stood solemnly by his father’s side, his own red curls ruffling in the breeze, mimicking his father’s stance and demeanor completely. 

Little man, thought Sansa proudly, it won’t be long before you’ll be joining your father in learning to rule a kingdom so huge and varied that it almost defied description. It was a world that ranged from the bustling and cosmopolitan city of White Harbor in the west to the remote and scattered homes of the mountain clans in the east; and from the craggy villages and strongholds of the Free Folk in the north to the vast, steamy swamp of the crannogmen in the south. And dead centre stood Winterfell, now the seat of all northern power.

As crown prince, he will learn at his father’s knee how to govern a people who have no time for hollow courtesies and courtly rituals. Winter is always coming and they must be prepared. Northerners were blunt spoken, pragmatic and gifted with memories of slights felt generations before so he will have his work cut out for him. But, between them, Sansa was confident that she and Jon could ensure that the rule of the Starks would endure for centuries to come. 

Or were they all Targaryens now? Or maybe…Stargaryens?

She tittered out loud at the last thought. Jon leaned over and whispered out of the side of his mouth.

“What’s so funny?” he asked as Torrhen glanced up at them both.

“Later”, she whispered back as Sam began to clear his throat as a signal for the ceremony to commence.


	64. Chapter 64

“Welcome to our honoured guests”, Sam began, “or as I like to say, our nearest and dearest”.

Sam paused as a few people chuckled before continuing.

“As you know there hasn’t been a coronation of a northern king for many generations so we weren’t sure how to proceed with today’s ceremony. In the south, normally the High Septon presides over the crowning of a king and offers his official blessing. But, as you well know, we don’t adhere to those southern ways here. So what you are about to witness today has been cobbled together and will, hopefully, become the template for future generations of northern kings”.

He gestured to the weirwood tree that towered above them.

“This is the symbol of northern faith…a devotion to the old gods that goes back thousands of years. Some of you may know that the trees are connected through a series of underground caves and streams that crisscross the north. The roots of these trees have been known to stretch beyond the reach of normal trees, reaching out to touch each other through the emptiness of space and time. Some claim that they have experienced visions before these trees…witnesses to events long past. And so, today, we ask that this tree, the cornerstone our faith and a representation of our gods, bear witness to this ceremony today in hopes that it will inspire future generations of northern kings. The north remembers because we must never lose sight of what we were meant to be…a northern kingdom united under and ruled by one of our own”.

Jon and Sansa smiled happily and clutched hands as the assembled guests clapped and shouted their approval. Sam made a gesture for them to quiet down before turning to the master steward and nodding.

Two crowns were carefully lifted out of an elaborately carved chest. The larger of the two was an open circlet of hammered gold surmounted with nine spikes resembling longswords. At the fore was the depiction of a dragon entwined with a direwolf, an homage to Jon’s dual heritage.

The crown was passed to Torrhen whose small hands trembled as he held it. He struggled to maintain an air of solemnity as his father knelt down so that he might place it upon his head but lost his resolve when his father winked at him. 

“Papa”, he shouted as he threw his arms around his father’s neck and clung to him as Jon gathered him up in his arms and held him tight. 

Lyra scrambled to her feet when she realized that it was her turn to participate in the ceremony. She skipped over to the chest to receive the smaller, more delicate crown made of pale spun gold and encrusted with blue sapphires. 

Sansa knelt down to receive her crown from her daughter amidst the sounds of aws coming from the crowd. She choked back a laugh when she noticed at its fore the symbol of a direwolf with a fish between its teeth and hoped that the Blackfish would find the humour in it, too. 

Just as Lyra was lifting the crown to place it on her mother’s head, she yanked it back at the last second and jammed it on to her own dark locks while smiling triumphantly at the assembled throng.   
“Lyra”, hissed Sansa in admonition. 

Jon deftly reached down and plucked the crown from his daughter’s head and gently placed it on Sansa’s head before delivering a kiss upon her brow. Lyra screeched and pouted in disappointment while Torrhen glared at her in disapproval.

Sansa leaned over to Jon as cheers erupted.

“She’s getting her revenge for the dress, I expect”, she sighed as she rested her chin on his shoulder. 

“Aye, she’s truly a child of the north. I reckon she has already stored away several grievances that will be addressed when she’s older”, he replied. “The gods help us if she takes up weaponry”. 

The gods help us if she has an affinity for dragons, thought Sansa. Then Daenerys’ words bubbled to the surface…I will take what is mine with fire and blood, and she realized that her willful little northern- looking daughter perhaps had more Targaryen traits in her than she had reckoned.

Sam ended the ceremony by requesting that everyone reconvene in the great hall for a feast in celebration. As the guests paused to bow and curtsey before the newly crowned king and queen of the north, Sansa observed two unfamiliar faces that loitered uncomfortably near the rear of the line. They did not resemble the Dornish contingent in both manner and dress and they were clearly not Westerosi. 

She grabbed Sam’s arm as he brushed past and pulled him aside. She ducked down to whisper in his ear.

“I don’t want you to alarm you but who are those two men dressed in the rich, eastern garb who are acting rather furtively?” she asked.

“Who?” replied Sam as he searched the crowd. “Oh, do you mean the men talking to Jon?”

She looked over at the scene with surprise to discover Jon speaking with the two men with Ghost plastered to his side. Then, after shaking hands with the two men, Jon walked towards Sam and Sansa with Ghost close at his heels while the two men disappeared into the throng of well-wishers.

“Who were those men”, she asked as Jon sidled up to her.

He glanced in their direction before turning back to her and Sam.

“Opportunists, charlatans, legitimate businessmen”, he replied with a shrug. “Who knows for sure…their types tend to show up under these circumstances. We have just opened up a whole new market for trade possibilities”.

“And what were they peddling?” she asked.

“Dragon eggs”, he replied. “They insist that they are hot on the trail of a pair believed to have been secreted away to Volantis”. 

Sansa crossed her arms. 

“Did you promise to finance their little venture?” she said as she narrowed her eyes.

Jon chuckled. 

“No, but I expressed just enough interest in case they are clever enough to deliver the goods”, he replied. “So, we’ll wait and see. But for now, Rhaegal is enough dragon for the north”.

Rhaegal certainly was enough for the north. Sansa was just beginning to understand how costly it was to compensate farmers for the loss of their livestock.

The great hall was buzzing with activity when the newly royal family finally arrived amidst much fanfare. It was packed with lords and chieftains alike, all prepared to swear their loyalty to the new king and queen of the north.  
As their names were called, each knelt before Jon and Sansa to recite the ancient oath of fealty, calling upon the old gods to strike them down if they swore falsely. 

She was familiar with all the players as they paraded before her, offering their mumbled devotions while she smiled and graciously nodded her head. Her eyes began to glaze over and her mind began to wander as she listened to the same words being spoken over and over again. 

Her ears perked up when the chieftain from Skagos was called upon and she turned her attention to the fierce looking man who was pushing his way through the crowd. He wore animal skins like many of the free folk and a necklace composed of bones which rattled with each heavy step. 

The burly man knelt before Jon and Sansa and uttered a mangled version of the oath, a combination of the old and new tongues, before rising stiffly to his feet. But before turning away, he stared at Sansa for a few seconds with curious eyes before shifting his glance to Torrhen who sat off to the side, his legs dangling from the oversized chair. Then the man backed away and melted into the crowd.

That was…odd, thought Sansa.

She saw the man again lurking nearby as Jon, besieged for most of the evening by lords seeking to petition the newly crowned king, was attempting to fend them off. Sansa pulled Sam aside to seek his assistance.

“As Hand of the King you are going to have to tell them that this is an inappropriate time to make their demands”, she explained.

“And when would be a suitable place and time?” he asked.

“Tomorrow morning after breakfast…make a list of their concerns and assign them a time to meet with Jon in his solar. Make sure you are present to bear witness and make a record of each request. Have you had the opportunity to send a raven to the Citadel for your replacement?” she said.

Sam nodded.

“I will vet each applicant and provide you and Jon with a shortlist”, he replied as he caught Jon’s eye. Jon was beginning to look a little desperate. Sam nodded at him before turning back to Sansa.

“It’s time to rescue the king”, he said as he turned away with a sigh.

He waded into the crowd surrounding Jon, waving and shouting for the lords to follow him. They gave Jon one final glance before falling into line behind Sam like a string of ducklings following their mother. 

Jon watched the lords leave the hall with palpable relief. Then he turned to the Skagosi chieftain who waited patiently by his side. 

Sansa watched the two of them engrossed in conversation for a few minutes. The chieftain gestured to her a couple of times but otherwise was intent on speaking with Jon as closely as possible. Finally, Jon patted the man on the shoulder and then shook his hand vigorously before the two parted. She was filled with curiosity as Jon pushed his way towards her.

“What was that all about?” she asked as they linked arms.

He pulled her out of the great hall and into the quiet of an empty corridor.

“Now…I don’t want you to get too excited because as of now we really know very little”, he explained. “He said that there is a boy, perhaps six or seven, who was brought to Skagos a few scant years ago. He has seen the boy and he says he looks remarkably like you and Torrhen”.

Her hear leapt at this revelation…Rickon, her baby brother.

She felt a little giddy and light-headed, grabbing Jon’s shirt for support.

“Is he sure about the resemblance?” she whispered hoarsely.

Jon nodded.

“It was difficult to communicate with him but he was fairly certain that the boy shares your blood”, he confirmed. 

She felt the tears sting her eyes and stream down her face as she sobbed quietly into his chest while he held her close.

“We’ll bring him back, Sansa”, said Jon fiercely.


	65. Chapter 65

Sansa watched Jon dismount Rhaegal first and then reach up to gather up the small bundle of furs that still clung to the dragon’s neck. As the boy slid into Jon’s arms, his hood fell backwards, revealing a tangle of matted red curls and piercing blue eyes. 

Sansa’s hand flew to her mouth as she stifled a cry. She looked at Jon with tears welling in her eyes and he nodded in pained acknowledgement.

The boy stood stock still as Jon unbuckled the saddle. His small hands were balled up into fists and his eyes darted around the yard with suspicion. There was no sign of recognition in his eyes.

He does not remember us, thought Sansa sadly. He looked tense and fearful, like an untamed animal backed into a corner and looking to escape… until Jon laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder and she could see him relax slightly.

He was small for his age so she could understand why the Skagosi chieftain thought him to be a much younger child. He appeared to be malnourished and wore the skins of small animals that had been bound together by unskilled hands. And when the breeze picked up, she could detect the whiff of rotting flesh that still clung to the pelts he wore. 

Jon leaned down to speak quietly in the boy’s ear and then gently pushed him towards Sansa. She sank to her knees, trying to make herself look smaller and less threatening. Then she opened her arms wide and forced her mouth in a small, quavering smile. 

“Welcome home”, she said in a tremulous voice. 

She could see him stiffen with resistance as Jon pushed him closer to her. She dropped one hand to her side and then held the other out, palm up, as if coaxing a wild animal into drawing near. She glanced back at Jon whose eyes shone with encouragement. 

Then the boy let out a strangled cry of surprise as Sansa felt the warm fur brush past her as Ghost trotted over to the child. The boy howled with pleasure before throwing his arms around the direwolf’s neck.

Well, it’s a start, thought Sansa , brushing away the dirt from her hands and skirt as she rose to her feet.

“Give him time”, said Jon softly as he gave her kiss on her cheek. “He was taken from us so long ago and his memories are still buried deep within”.

She glanced at the boy again as he buried his face in Ghost’s ruff, inhaling deeply the direwolf’s smell. 

“How does he accept you already?” she asked.

Jon gave Ghost a pat.

“He senses that small part of Ghost that I still carry inside of me”, he replied. “It has been just he and Shaggydog for a very long time according to the Skagosi”. 

Jon held out his hand to the child who took it tentatively.

“Come, Rickon…it’s time to become reacquainted with your home”, he said as the boy followed.

Sansa brought up the rear, stopping briefly in the kitchen to leave instructions to have food and fresh clothing brought up within the hour. When asked what his favourite foods might be, she shook her head as she realized she didn’t have a clue.

“Just provide whatever looks tasty and tempting to a young boy”, she answered helplessly as the cook nodded sagely.

“We’ll figure it out in time, milady”, the cook said as she patted Sansa’s hand in a show of comfort. 

Jon, accompanied by Ghost, took Rickon to his own chambers. There, he and Sansa wrestled with the boy to remove layers of filthy skins as the servants poured a hot bath. Then she instructed them to take away the furs and burn them. The boy growled as he stood shivering before the tub, his emaciated little body quivering in fear and anticipation. 

Ghost slowly circled around the tub and stood before the boy with his teeth silently bared in display of dominance. He nudged at the boy.

A flash of defiance crossed Rickon’s face before he climbed gingerly into the water and sat there rigidly awaiting his fate.

Sansa knelt down beside the tub to watch Jon pour water on Rickon’s hair and watched it trickle down his bony back. Then she passed the soap to Jon who lathered up his hands and began to wash his hair vigorously. 

Rickon recoiled at the tugging sensation and let out a loud shriek. He began clawing at Jon’s hands, trying to pull them down and bite them.

Sansa reflexively reached out to grab Rickon’s hands and struggled to hold on to them. The boy was surprisingly strong as he slipped out of her grasp and sloshed water over the sides as he reached up to pull himself out of the tub. But Jon was stronger and pressed down on the boy’s shoulders while Ghost rested his snout on the tub’s edge and glared at the child. 

“Rickon”, said Jon firmly, “sit still and this won’t take long”.

The boy let out a soft growl as he slowly sank down in the tub once more. His eyebrows were knitted together in barely suppressed rage as he grudgingly allowed Jon to continue.

Sansa gathered up some towels before moving closer to Jon.

“Jon…does he speak at all?” she asked as she passed him a basin. 

Jon grimaced as he poured water over the boy’s head.

“I have yet to hear him utter a word”, he replied as he accepted the bottle of oil from Sansa’s hand. 

As Jon smoothed the oil through Rickon’s hair and gently removed the dirt from his face, Sansa rocked back on her heels and studied the child that was emerging from beneath the layers of filth. 

“He…he looks like Robb when he was a child”, she commented. Jon lowered his eyes and nodded as he picked up a towel. 

“Aye”, he replied with a quick intake of breath before motioning to the boy to rise up. 

Rickon scowled as he clambered out of the tub and stood obediently as Jon dried him off and wrapped him in a larger towel. Then he picked up the boy as if he was no heavier than a feather and sat down by the fireplace with Rickon curled up in his lap.

Sansa answered the knock at the door and granted entry to the maid who brought in a selection of pastries and sweetmeats on a tray and set it before them. Surely any child would be tempted by such an array of delicious treats reasoned Sansa. 

Eventually she was rewarded when, after a surveying the food for a few minutes, he snatched up a sweetmeat and stuffed it into his mouth. Then, without waiting to swallow first, he shoved a pastry between his teeth.

“Whoa, little man”, exclaimed Jon as he pushed away the tray. “Slow down…make sure you get them down your gullet first before you have another”.

She leaned forward and smiled at him as he slowly chewed and swallowed his food before offering him more. Then she looked wistfully at Jon.

“He’s going to need a haircut”, she commented as she reached out to graze his curls with her fingertips. Jon rolled his eyes.

“One battle at a time, Sansa”, he replied. 

Then they both chuckled as they shared memories of Rickon squaring off against his mother when it came time to cut his hair.

As Jon helped the boy dress, Sansa summoned the servants to tidy up the room. She tried to send the tray of unfinished food back to the kitchen but Rickon grunted frantically and tried to grab it from the maid’s hands.

“Just leave it for now”, instructed Sansa before they backed out of the room and closed the door. 

“He can sleep with me and Ghost tonight”, said Jon as he patted the bed. Ghost leapt up on to the top of the furs and settled down beside Rickon.

After a few minutes of staring silently at the ceiling, Rickon eventually rolled over on to his side and fell asleep with one hand gripping Ghost’s fur. 

Jon and Sansa stood together quietly watching his small chest rise and fall. 

“How long was he alone, Jon?” she asked finally.

“It’s hard to say,” he replied. “When the villagers found him they speculate that he had been caring for himself for up to a year. At least he had Shaggydog to hunt for him and protect him. They think that Osha may have died many moons before when a fever swept through several of the villages, wiping out entire families in some cases. Some of the villagers tried to take him in but he kept running away. And Shaggydog was completely out of control and terrorized them. Eventually they took to leaving Rickon parcels of food when they had glimpses of him in the bush. Once I arrived with the chieftain, it took several days of searching before we finally tracked him down. Needless to say, he was frightened when we found him. If it wasn’t for my connection to Ghost I could never have persuaded him to come with me”.

“And what of Shaggydog?” asked Sansa.

Jon smiled.

“He’s coming…no doubt barreling across the tundra as we speak. I made arrangements to have him transported across the water before setting him free. He’ll not be parted from Rickon for long”, he replied as he glanced at sleeping direwolf. “I expect Ghost will pick up his scent soon enough. He will be very pleased to be reunited with his brother again”.

As am I, thought Sansa.


	66. Chapter 66

“Lyra”, said Sansa sharply, “manners”.

Lyra froze with her fingers still in her mouth. Then she swallowed her porridge hastily, wiping her hands on the front of her dress before taking up her spoon. 

Sansa closed her eyes and mentally starting counting to ten. Her eyes flew open when she reached four beats.

“Rickon”, said Jon in a low, deliberate tone of voice, “it customary to ask to have the bread passed to you”. 

She glanced at the sullen boy who had sunk in his chair, his knees around his chest, cramming the slice of bread into his mouth. Then he broke off a piece and tossed it to the floor where Shaggydog snapped it up and gulped it down. 

Torrhen continued to eat his meal with his eyes lowered while Lyra stared at Rickon in fascination, her spoon poised in mid air. 

Sansa felt Jon’s hand creep on to hers and as he leaned forward.

“I don’t have to go, you know”, he whispered as he gave her hand a squeeze.

She smiled wanly at him.

“You do have to go”, she replied. “They don’t have enough experience to handle these talks on their own”.

Members of Jon’s newly appointed small council had arrived at the Eyrie for a summit with representatives from Kings Landing to discuss border and trade disputes…plus, what to do with the privateers that were still blocking the shipping lanes and causing havoc on the seas. 

Jon had the luxury of traveling via dragon and so could wait until the last possible minute to leave. And that minute had arrived.

Sansa watched Rickon as he dangled a hand before Shaggydog’s snout, allowing the pitch black direwolf to lick off the food that clung to his fingers. Then, without warning, he rose from his chair, wordlessly beckoning to Shaggydog to follow him as he sauntered from the room.

Sansa sat back in her chair and tried to find some humour in the situation but it was beyond her. Jon could see the look of despair in her eyes.

“Well…at least it’s an improvement over the first family meal”, he said in an effort to cheer her up. 

Sansa nodded.

“That was a bloody nightmare”, she muttered under her breath. 

For that meal, Rickon had resisted all efforts to sit at the table with the rest of his family. Instead, he snatched up his trencher of food and retreated to a dark corner of the kitchen. There he ate quickly, a guarded look on his face as he scooped up his food, his fingers swirling over his plate. He snarled at the kitchen staff as they bustled past. 

Sansa was mortified when she noticed their sidelong glances. Clearly this was not how the son of a lord should behave, their looks conveyed. 

Torrhen and Lyra were unsure how to treat this newly arrived uncle of theirs. They had a very loose definition of what constituted family and tended to treat everyone at Winterfell as extended family members. But Rickon remained somewhat estranged from them with his bizarre behaviour and his refusal to speak.

Shaggydog’s arrival at Winterfell only complicated matters as he and Rickon would disappear for hours into the woods. 

“You can’t just lock him away”, reasoned Jon as Sansa fumed, scanning the surrounding landscape for signs their return. “And maybe it’s better this way…it keeps him out of trouble with the other children”.

Before Shaggydog’s arrival there had been fights…so many that Sansa had lost count. The older children in Winterfell had jeered at Rickon, immediately sensing how different he was. And he retaliated with such ferocity, almost biting the ear off one of them, that Jon was forced to assign a guard to shadow Rickon to avoid further confrontations. So it was almost a relief when he started spending the bulk of his time rambling about the countryside with Shaggydog by his side. 

She and Jon made their goodbyes after breakfast.

“Feel free to remind Robert that if they begin to stonewall and threaten to drag out these talks that he should show them the exit through the Moon Door”, she said as she laid her hand alongside of his face.

He reached up to take her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. 

“Only if the situation becomes truly desperate”, he chuckled.

She glanced over at the large tent that had recently been erected as she heard the hammering resume.

“It’s a shame you are going to miss the performance”, she said. 

Jon made a face.

“Truthfully, I don’t care for mummers…the face paint, the wigs, the elaborate costumes…all they represent to me is falsity”, he replied.

“Ah…but sometimes within that falsity is a kernel of truth that gives us insight into the human spirit”, she said with an impish grin.

Jon coughed lightly and smiled.

“The queen’s first command performance…I can see that you are totally engaged and more than ready to be entertained”, he said as he pulled on his gloves. 

They parted ways just as the dragon announced its arrival with a screech that startled the workers and drove them out of the tent with mouths agape. 

As Jon and Rhaegal faded into the sky, Sansa lowered her sight to the treetops that crowded the landscape beyond the castle walls. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear Sam sidle up beside her.

“Looking for your brother?” asked Sam. 

Sansa nodded before turning to him. 

“What does he do out there, I wonder? What is he looking for?” she murmured. 

Sam shook his head.

“Answers maybe? Trying to make sense of it all?” he replied. “I won’t pretend to understand the mind of a mute, feral boy but maybe he’s trying to find the key to unlocking his memories…trying to figure out how he fits into this world”.

Sansa was somewhat taken aback.

“Thank you for that insight…I think you may be right”, she said.

Sam shrugged.

“War tends to create generations of lost children. They lose all sense of family, home and community. They wander through life looking for connections. Sometimes they are able to form new relationships…sometimes never. Most of the time they just get on with life as best they can with what resources they have at hand”, he replied.

Sam turned his gaze to the countryside.

“Rickon is pretty far gone. I confess I have never seen a boy turn so inward that he would reject his own humanity like that but I do believe that he will come back. He’s made significant strides since Jon brought him home”, he said, “but he’s still going to require a lot of love and patience to make him what he was destined to become as the well bred son of a great house”.

A crowd was gathering outside the tent when Sansa, Torrhen and Lyra arrived. After they had been seated, the gathering began to drift in and stake out a spot before the wooden stage.

The performance opened with a song by a lone musician who sang of the exploits of the kings of Winter, beginning with the renowned Bran the Builder, founder of House Stark and the first King in the North and ending with Jon Stark-Targaryen, the Ice Dragon, and his victory over the Others. He strummed on his lute, detailing the majesty and might of the northern kings in a soothing tenor voice.

He bowed low to shouts of appreciation and loud clapping. Then he nodded off-stage and the audience murmured as a sheet of fabric which served as a curtain was pulled to one side to reveal a puppet theater.

The children laughed and clapped with delight as the puppets popped up one by one. They squealed and hollered back as the antics of the puppets became more frenzied. And when the performance was finished, adults and children alike bounced to their feet and called out for more.

The crowd murmured with impatience as they waited for the next act. Finally the curtain was pulled back to reveal two mummers dressed in children’s garb. They opened their mouths to speak but then stopped and stared at the entrance to the tent. 

Sansa heard a small shriek and turned, craning her neck to seek out the source of the woman’s distress. Then she rose to her feet with a frown on her face.

“Rickon”, she announced loudly but firmly, “stay if you wish but Shaggydog must remain outside”.

The atmosphere was hushed as everyone turned in the direction of the boy who stood holding the tent flap to one side. His face was sullen and his haunted eyes were fixed on the scene before him. Shaggydog stood at his side, bristling and growling softly. 

And then, without one word from Rickon, the direwolf abruptly turned and left the tent.

Sansa nodded at him and patted the bench before her. She could see the hesitation in his eyes before he began to push his way towards through the crowd.

Lyra beamed at him while Torrhen watched him warily as he sat down between them. Sansa sighed and signaled to the mummers to begin.

The play was based on a cautionary tale well known in the north. Sansa had first heard at Old Nan’s knee. Two children, a brother and sister, are separated from the parents and lost in the woods. They come upon a pretty little hut on the edge of the forest where a warm and nurturing woman takes them in. They know little of the woman other than she is kind and generous. She has a number of animals that she is raising and the children are enlisted in the feeding and caring of these animals. All except the mynah bird that is kept in her bedroom, its cage kept dark night and day by a heavy blanket laid on top. 

They are forbidden to go near the bird. She says that it is dangerous and will peck their eyes out. They are obedient to a fault until their curiosity gets the better of them so that, while the woman is out chopping wood, they steal into her room and lift up the blanket tentatively. 

The bird becomes agitated and begins to flap its wings. The children recoil and shield their eyes in fear.

“Run”, the bird squawks, “run, run away. She means to kill you both and eat you…run, run run away”.

The children cry and hug each other, uncertain as to whether they should obey the bird or stay put as the woman has only ever been good to them. And there they remain until the woman appears in the doorway with the wood ax still in her hands.

“What did I tell you?” screeched the mummer, a man dressed in woman’s clothes, in a falsetto voice. “I told you never to go near that bird”. 

The woman swung the ax menacingly as the children backed away slowly. Then they managed to slip around her and slam the bedroom door shut, trapping her inside as they shoved a chair underneath the latch before making a break for the front door. But the door was barred and they looked around in desperation for another means of escape. In the meantime, the mummer was making chopping noises offstage as if the woman was splintering a hole in the door. 

Lyra shrieked and snatched up Rickon’s hand. Rickon remained impassive but his eyes were glued to the mummers portraying the children as they ran around, desperate to escape. As they ran across the stage a loose carpet which had been placed in the center shifted to one side to reveal a door in the floor. The children looked at each other knowingly as they reached down to pull up the trapdoor before disappearing beneath the floorboards.

The woman reappeared looking harried, the ax still gripped in her hands, as she dodged around the stage frantically looking for the missing children. Belatedly, she saw the means of their escape and howled her disappointment as the curtain was tugged across the scene. 

The audience rose to their feet to show their appreciation for the performance. As they clapped wildly, Sansa noticed that Rickon had slipped away. She shrugged off her disappointment and sat down again with her children to enjoy the next act. 

Halfway through the performance, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. She turned to discover one of the sentries with a look of concern on his face.

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace”, he whispered, “but it is most urgent that you return with me to the castle. Master Rickon is causing a ruckus and the black direwolf won’t let any of us near him”.

She could hear his cries growing closer as the sentry led her down the corridor that took them to the entrance to the crypts. The entry was still sealed and Rickon was pounding on the heavy wood and crying piteously. His knuckles were grazed and bleeding. Shaggydog stood by loyally, forbidding them to come nearer. 

Sansa could feel Ghost brush past her, his tail swishing furiously. The two direwolves faced each other, fangs exposed, refusing to back down. But Ghost was the bigger and more resolute of the two. After a few minutes, Shaggydog backed away slowly and lifted his head, exposing his throat, to show his brother that he had won this confrontation. 

“Unseal the entrance”, demanded Sansa as she seized Rickon's bloody hands.

“But, Your Grace, the king instructed us to never…” one of the sentries began.

“The king is not here and I am in charge”, replied Sansa. “So you disobey me at your peril”.

The sentries looked at each other before one of them disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a few simple tools. They took turns dismantling the seal, tearing apart the wood planks until there was an opening large enough for them to pass through. 

The smell of stale air blew through the opening and Sansa wrinkled her nose at the sour odour. She ordered one of the men to grab a torch and follow her. 

She held on to Rickon’s arm as they descended the worn stone steps to the vaults that held generations of dead Starks. 

The light from the torch flared up and illuminated the parade of stone faces that lined the alcoves. Rickon took up the lead and tugged on her hand as he led her deeper into the tombs. 

Sansa looked around fearfully. She always despised coming down here, unlike her siblings who delighted in hiding behind the statues and reaching out to grab her, laughing uproariously as she shrieked in terror. 

They stopped when they turned a corner into a small, dark unoccupied space spread out with straw and littered with small, moth-eaten blankets. Sansa stared uncomprehending before turning to her brother.

“Why have you brought me here, Rickon?” she asked. 

There was silence except for the sputtering of the flaming torch and the rushing of the water of the underground stream that flowed beneath their feet. 

And then it dawned on her. She stared back at the straw and she knew…

“Is this…is this where you hid when the Ironborn sacked Winterfell?” she asked hesitantly.

Rickon nodded mutely. Sansa felt her eyes fill with tears. Was he here by himself the whole time? Did Bran hide down here with him?

She reached down to pull him closer but he stiffened and pushed her away. She could see him open his mouth.

“You left me…you all left me”, he screamed.

Sansa sank to her knees, unable to reply as she felt her throat close.

“First you, Arya, Jon and Father”, he yelled, his voice echoing around the chamber, “then Mother and Robb. You left us alone…me and our crippled brother. We didn’t have our family to protect us. And then Bran left me…”

Sansa sobbed quietly with one hand placed over her mouth, still unable to respond.

“Why?” he cried plaintively. “Why did all of you leave me…why?” 

With the sound of his quavering voice rippling into the distance, Sansa shook her head sadly and struggled to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Rickon…I… don’t know what else to say”, she said finally. “It was a complicated and dangerous time and I truly, truly regret what happened to you”.

She reached out and touched his cold, tear-stricken face. 

“Please forgive me…forgive us?” she begged him. 

But he stood unyielding before her, staring blankly over her shoulder into the darkness than enveloped them. Then he shifted his gaze back to her face.

“Do you promise never to leave me behind again?” he whispered fiercely.

“Never again”, whispered Sansa hoarsely. “I will remain with you until the end of time if that is what you want”. 

He lowered his eyes and raised them again before reaching out to gently touch her forehead.

“Then I forgive you”, he replied.


	67. Chapter 67

“He speaks”, exclaimed Jon as Rickon’s voice bounced off the walls of the corridor as the boy rushed past them. 

Sansa nodded as she reached down to catch Lyra who was running after Rickon.

“Lyra”, she said, “when he is tired of this chasing game then let him be. Do you understand?”

Lyra nodded and then squealed when she saw Rickon start to double back. She struggled to escape from her mother’s grasp. Sansa sighed and released her wriggling daughter.

Jon slipped an arm around Sansa’s shoulders and leaned in.

“So…what happened?” he asked.

“We made peace”, she replied as they continued their journey down the corridor.

“I wasn’t aware you were at war”, said Jon as he pushed open the door to his solar. 

His face fell when he saw the piles of paper that had accumulated on his desk. He turned to Sansa with a scowl.

“I thought that Sam would be looking after this while I was away”, he complained.

Sansa helped him off with his cloak and shook it out before laying it across the back of his chair. Then she pulled up another chair and sat down. 

“Sam is currently wearing two hats until the new maester arrives”, she replied as Jon sat down with a huff. He crossed his arms and glared at the seemingly endless piles of documents to be addressed. 

“He did what he could but…well, Rickon needs a lot of attention”, she explained as she laid a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “It’s just as we feared…he can neither read nor write. So he has a lot of catching up to do”.

Jon let out a sigh as he began to sift through the piles in a desultory manner. Sansa slipped an arm around his shoulders and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“I can give you a hand for a little while until I have to attend a couple of meetings”, she said. “If you can keep focused on the task at hand then there might be reward in the end”.

Jon rolled his eyes.

“That won’t be necessary, Sansa”, he replied. “I’m not a child who has to be bribed with sweets to do what is required of me. But I’ll have to admit that being a leader during wartime involves a lot less paperwork”.

Sansa laughed as she rested her head briefly on his shoulder before reaching out to grab a pile of documents.

“So how did the talks go? Did you make any progress?” asked Sansa as she passed him a petition for his perusal. He scanned it and frowned.

“They went well all considered”, he replied absently. 

Sansa’s antennae went up.

“What happened?” she queried.

“What?” he replied as he raised his eyes from the paper. 

When he saw the anxious look on her face he hastened to reassure her that nothing went awry. The talks went smoothly; many issues were resolved while others had to be tabled for the next round of negotiations. 

However, he did have one piece of interesting news which had some impact on the meeting.

“Cersei Baratheon is dead”, he said flatly. 

She glanced at him with a startled look on her face.

“When?” she asked.

“Roughly two moons ago”, he replied. “Tommen was there for the summit but he didn’t contribute much. He appeared to be still in mourning”.

News from Westeros no longer reached their ears as speedily now that they no longer belonged to the realm.

“How did she die?” she asked.

“She was found in her cell face down in a pool of her own puke”, he replied grimly. “Her skin was sallow and her eyes were yellow and bloodshot”.

Sansa winced at the thought of choking and drowning in your own vomitus. 

“Had she been drinking?” she asked as she shuffled some documents together.

“Well…thereby hangs a mystery. She had been forbidden to have wine with her meals because of her tendency to drink excessively. But there was definitely wine in the contents of her stomach that she spewed. But there was no sign of it in her cell. So if she had been drinking, somebody took care to remove the evidence”, he replied.

“Will there be an investigation?” she asked.

Jon shook his head.

“A cursory investigation was conducted and the results were inconclusive. I don’t think she had many allies left and few were invested in finding out the truth. I expect only Tommen will keep the issue alive” he replied.

Sansa was secretly cheered by the notion that maybe somebody was bold enough to hasten Cersei’s demise, thus ridding the world of her poison. 

They spent the better part of the next couple of hours going through each piece of paper, arguing over the merits of each request, discussing the legal ramifications and adding up sums before making a record in the ledger.

As Jon slammed the book shut and opened the drawer to lock it away, Sansa rose and pushed aside her chair as if to leave.

Jon grabbed her hand.

“What about my reward?” he asked softly.

Sansa was confused.

“You said it wasn’t necessary and now it’s almost time for me to attend to my appointments”, she replied as she loosened her hand from his grasp.

He turned away and began clearing the surface his desk. 

“You’ll make time for this”, he responded mysteriously as he placed his books, quills and inkpot on the floor beneath. 

Once the desk was bare he placed his hands on her waist and lifted her on to the desk. She sat with her legs dangling over the side, her arms planted by her sides for balance.

“Jon”, she protested as he began to lift up her skirts. 

“Lean back a little”, he ordered as he reached up to tug on her small clothes.

She did as she was told and felt bare beneath the fabric of her skirts as he tossed her undergarments to the floor. Then he knelt down while she hiked her skirts up higher. 

“Move a little closer to the edge”, he whispered.

She thrilled with anticipation as she squirmed forward. They had never indulged in such illicit activities outside of the privacy of their bedchambers before.

She felt a jolt with the first lick. Then she leaned back with a sigh of pleasure as his tongue lapped at her folds, revealing her most sensitive spots. She panted and mewled as she could feel the tension coiling in her belly, just waiting to be released, when she heard the discreet knock at the door.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you, Your Grace”, said the master steward. “but they’re waiting for you in your solar”.

Jon froze while Sansa stifled a cry and cleared her throat, trying to make her voice sound as normal as possible under the circumstances.

“Tell them that the king and I have some unfinished business to attend to and I will be there shortly”, she responded, sounding a bit shrilly. “Go ahead and offer them refreshments to keep them occupied”.

“Very well, Your Grace”, the steward replied, his voice sounding neutral. 

Jon waited a few beats before resuming in earnest. Sansa spread her legs further apart and moaned in appreciation. Within a few minutes she had reached her peak and shuddered as Jon stroked her inner thigh, guiding her down with his sweet words. 

“Jon…I want you inside me now”, she said urgently as she leaned forward to unlace his breeches. “If I keep them waiting much longer they’ll suspect that we are up to more than just rooting through endless paperwork”.

“Let them think what they want”, he said with a grunt as he thrust himself into her. “It’s good for the realm knowing that the king and queen still enjoy fucking each other”.

When they finished, Jon held Sansa steady as she hopped down from the desk. After straightening her clothes she stood before him with her arms akimbo.

“Do I look presentable?” she asked.

He pulled her to him and kissed the side of her neck.

“You look perfect”, he murmured. “But you smell like sex and dragon fire”.

She pulled away, drew herself up and adopted a haughty mien.

“That’s better”, he commented as she moved towards the door, chin held high. “There goes the ice dragon queen of my heart. They won’t dare get too close to you now”.

She waved him off with a laugh as she swept regally from the room.


	68. Chapter 68

“Jon, are you listening to me?” complained Sansa.

She had been sharing a particularly juicy piece of gossip she had overheard earlier in the day, in between bites of her meal, when she realized that he was being unresponsive. At first she took his silence to be a sign of moodiness until she glanced up and saw that he was staring into the middle of the room. She followed his gaze for a minute, swallowing down the lump of jealousy that rose like bile in her throat, before elbowing him in the ribs. 

“Who is she?” she demanded as she watched the serving girl circulating amongst the guests, dispensing food and drink. 

She was a small in stature, pretty with dark hair and lively eyes. She laughed and japed as she refilled their goblets and passed out platters of meat and bread. 

“I don’t know”, he muttered, his eyes unwavering as he followed the girl closely. “But I do know that she was at the Eyrie during the summit. She looks different somewhat but I know it’s her”.

Sansa watched his eyes narrow as the girl crossed the room and exit through the doorway leading to the kitchen. Then he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, looking pensive. Sansa leaned over.

“Are you sure it’s the same girl?” she asked tapping him on his arm. 

He nodded. 

“At times it felt like she was stalking me. Sometimes when I looked up I caught her staring at me. Other times I could hear somebody dogging my footsteps and when I turned I caught a glimpse of her slipping into the shadows”, he murmured. “This happened more than once so I know it wasn’t just my imagination or a trick of the light”. 

Sansa smiled and tucked her arm around his.

“Perhaps she was infatuated with you. After all, you are a living legend…handsome, powerful…a king, no less”, she said, her voice calm despite the emotions churning inside of her.

“And I swear she was in my room my last night in the Eyrie”, Jon blurted out as he turned to her. “I…I couldn’t see her but I know she was there. But by the time I fumbled with the candle she was gone”.

Sansa paled and tightened her grip on his arm. Jon patted her hand before gently disengaging it. Then he pushed back his chair and began to rise up.

“Where are you going?” Sansa hissed.

Jon gave her a quizzical look.

“I’m going after her. I want to know what she’s playing at”, he replied. 

Sansa reached up and tugged on his arm.

“Jon, if you go chasing after her then you’ll set the tongues wagging. Send one of your men after her or better yet…let me deal with it. I’m the one who oversees the domestic staff so let me speak to the master steward about her first. We don’t want to go about confronting some poor besotted girl in front of everyone”, she counseled him.

He paused for a few seconds before sitting back down with a huff. He sat in his chair, glowering and drumming his fingers impatiently. 

Sansa sighed and rose up.

“I’ll go speak to him now”, she said in a tone of resignation. 

“Thank you”, he muttered before taking another swig of wine.

She found the master steward supervising the maids who were making up beds for some of the guests who were staying the night. She pulled him aside.

“I need you to identify one of the girls who was serving in the great hall this evening”, she said in a low voice. She offered a description of the girl while he searched his memory. He threw out a few names of women who fit the girl’s description but Sansa was already familiar with them. 

“No, no, no”, said Sansa. “She must be very new because I have never seen her before”.

The master steward frowned and shrugged helplessly.

“Then I am at a loss, Your Grace”, he replied. “We haven’t taken on any new female serving staff for nigh on three moons now. I don’t know whom you saw in the hall but she wasn’t hired by me”.

Sansa made a few more inquiries of the other staff but apart from a few sightings of the girl, none knew her name nor where she had come from. It was almost as if she had been a figment of their collective imagination.

“She’s a shadow on the wall…a specter”, announced Sansa as she crawled into bed. “Nobody has seen her since she disappeared after the evening meal”.

Jon laid aside the book he had been reading and wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“With any luck she’s gone for good if she knows we’re on to her”, he said as he blew out the candle.

Sansa moved closer to him and laid an arm across his chest.

“I’ve posted a guard outside the room so there will be no visitors tonight”, she said with a yawn. 

When she heard the voice in the night she thought maybe she had been dreaming. She awoke to silence, apart from the low rumbling from Jon’s parted lips, but instinctively she knew somebody was there. She glanced around the room, lit only by the fire burning low on the grate, and searched the shadows for signs of an intruder.

“Who’s there?” she called out tremulously. She half expected a figure to step out of the gloom but the room was eerily quiet.

There was a tap at the door as the sentry on duty asked if she needed his assistance. She felt Jon began to stir as she called out for the man to enter and bring a torch. 

As Jon and Sansa sat up in bed, the sentry waved the torch into the darkest corners of the chamber but could find no sign of anybody else in the room. Sansa thanked him before dismissing him to resume his vigil outside the door.

“I know somebody was here in the room, Jon”, she insisted. “I could sense her presence”. 

Jon swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“I’ll go fetch Ghost from the nursery”, he said as he donned his dressing gown. “She’ll hightail it out of here if she returns and finds him present”.

“What I want to know is how in seven hells she got in here in the first place”, Sansa muttered as Jon left the room. 

The rest of the night passed without incident.

The next morning when Sansa entered Jon’s solar, she discovered him engrossed in a message recently arrived from her cousin, Robert.

“They found Ser Meryn Trant’s body dashed upon the rocks below the Eyrie”, he announced as he scanned the message for more information.

Sansa felt her knees begin to buckle and her breathing became laboured. Jon looked at her in alarm before reaching out to grab her before she sank to the floor.

“I’m so sorry, my love”, he murmured as he held her close. “I didn’t realize that the mere mention of his name would have this effect on you”.

The daily beatings, being stripped bare in front of the whole court…the weight of all the humiliation and pain she had suffered at the hands of Meryn Trant came crashing down on her. She struggled to get hold of her emotions. 

“How?” she gasped.

Jon shook his head.

“All I know is that he accompanied Tommen to the summit as part of the Kingsguard. But when he failed to appear on the last day without cause, we all assumed that he must have deserted his post and would be hunted down and tried for treason. Now it appears that something more nefarious had taken place”, he explained. 

She sobbed against his chest as the horror of Kings Landing overcame her.

He placed a finger under her chin and tipped her tear-stained face upwards.

“Would you like me to call one of your ladies to accompany you to your chambers?” he asked softly.

She shook her head.

“No”, she said, “I just want to stay here with you”. 

He offered her his handkerchief and held her tight, rocking back and forth, until she decided that she no more tears to shed. 

“That is the second death in recent days for which I am grateful”, she said as she daubed away at her cheek. “The gods are going to think I’m a vindictive little bitch”.

Jon kissed her forehead.

“They deserved to die for what they did to you, Sansa”, he whispered soothingly. “We should make an offering of thanks to the gods for heeding our prayers”. 

Sansa excused herself when Sam came to the door, armed with ledgers and papers that needed Jon’s attention. She spent the rest of the morning attending to the children until finally retiring to her solar to do some embroidery. 

After the chaos of the nursery, her solar was the epitome of serenity. After shedding her shawl, she picked up the wooden hoop and snapped the fabric into place. Then she searched through her collection of threads for ones that would be suitable for her embroidered garden. 

“Sansa”, said a disembodied female voice. She paused and looked up. She was uncertain if she heard somebody speak or if, in her heightened state of awareness, she had imagined it.

“Sansa…it’s me”, said the voice.

Sansa glanced around the room systematically, trying not to panic. 

“Show yourself, whoever you are, before I call for the guard”, she called out imperiously. 

She heard a rustle and then saw a young woman emerge from behind a floor to ceiling tapestry that hung near the darkest corner of the room. She was a small in stature with long, dark brown hair and grey eyes like Jon’s. 

Sansa was stunned into silence, unsure if the vision she saw before her was really true.

“Arya?” she asked hesitantly.

The corners of the girl’s mouth turned up into a big grin.

“In the flesh”, she replied.


	69. Chapter 69

Sansa exploded in rage.

“Why in seven hells have you been hiding and sneaking around?” she yelled. “A normal person would have passed through the front gate and had herself announced”.

Arya recoiled and curled her upper lip.

“Well…a normal person does not fuck her brother”, she spat back. “So I wasn’t certain I wanted to reconnect with family members who behave like Lannisters”.

Arya’s response took Sansa aback and cooled her anger. Her face softened as contrition took over but her arms remained tightly folded across her chest.

“Arya, you know he’s not your brother…he’s your cousin”, she replied, her voice lowered.

“But he was raised as our brother, Sansa”, said Arya, her tone insistent. “Is that why you kept him at arms’ length when we were children? To make it easier to lure him into your bed later on?”

Sansa’s lips tightened and she whirled away to pace before the fireplace. She simmered with guilt and anger as her long lost sister, whose return she had been wishing and praying for, stood there before her…and now her most fervent wish was that Arya should go away and leave her alone. 

“It wasn’t like that and you know it”, growled Sansa. 

Arya huffed and tossed her hair before flopping down on to a nearby chair. 

“No, I don’t know so why don’t you enlighten me”, she asked evenly. 

Sansa stopped pacing and took a seat in front of her. 

“I want you to reserve judgment until you have heard the full story”, said Sansa. 

Arya threw up her hands in a gesture of silent acquiescence. 

Sansa sat twisting her fingers in her lap, wondering where to begin.

“It all started when the Wall fell and Sam brought Jon home”, she said. Then she leaned forward.

“He was dying, Arya, and it was a long, hard struggle to bring him back. I knew that it was shameful but it was during that time that I realized that I had fallen in love with him”, she continued.

Arya raised one corner of her mouth in amusement. 

“And when did he reciprocate?” she asked as she leaned back in her chair.

Sansa shook her head, her eyes downcast.

“Not until after he learned the truth…that he was really a Targaryen. I confessed my feelings to him only when he threatened to leave me…leave Winterfell forever”, she replied, glancing up. “But it still took him some time to admit that he had feelings for me. We both had to wrap our heads around the notion that although we had been raised as siblings, we had now fallen deeply, desperately in love”. 

Sansa knew that her face now registered defiance. She was always prepared to defend her love for Jon.

She was expecting Arya to show some expression of disgust but was surprised to see concern on her sister’s face.

“I expect the two of you had to endure a lot of flannel for choosing each other”, she said, shaking her head in sympathy. 

“Aye”, Sansa replied, sounding relieved. “We certainly defied all their expectations. And I don’t doubt that there are some that still regard our union as unnatural and say so behind our backs. But I don’t care about them because they are never going to change their minds. All I know is that I have no regrets about my choice…Jon and I belong together and that is all that matters to me”.

Arya smiled and opened her arms wide.

“And now look at the pair of you…rulers of the north”, she said with a laugh. “I never would have dreamed it possible all those years ago”.

“So, do we meet with your approval?” asked Sansa. 

Arya screwed up her face and glanced at the ceiling before returning her gaze to Sansa. 

“Like Jon, I’m going to need a little more time, Sansa” she replied. “I love you both but…it’s difficult to think of both of you together. The concept is still a little bit repellant, quite frankly, but I have had to adjust to far worse situations in life”.

Sansa reached out and took one of her sister’s hands.

“Tell me”, she said, her eyes fixed on Arya’s face. “Tell me what you’ve doing all these years…where have you been…whom have you been with?”

Arya uttered a short, brittle laugh.

“Where haven’t I been would be more accurate”, she replied with a slight cough. “I did what I had to do to survive at first…and then I developed a particular set of skills for which I am renowned in certain circles”.

Sansa tilted her head to one side as she regarded her sister closely.

“You’re being deliberately vague, Arya”, she said. 

“I am…but I promise you I’m being disingenuous for your own protection”, Arya replied. 

Fear crept into Sansa’s eyes as she saw Arya’s eyes grow colder. Her heart sank as thoughts of what her sister had endured after escaping Kings Landing bubbled to the surface.

“Arya, you need to tell me everything”, she whispered. “We’re family…sisters. I promise you that I would never betray you. The fact that you’re here now must mean something. I need to believe that you’re prepared to trust us”. 

Arya sat back and folded her arms. Sansa could see the conflict of emotions on her face.

“And what of Jon?” Arya snapped. “What of his precious honour…he might feel compelled to turn me in”.

“Jon has had to compromise his honour out of loyalty to his family tenfold”, hissed Sansa. “He tried to desert to go south when Robb went to war. He betrayed his Night’s Watch brothers and nearly died for it when he believed that you had been married off to that despicable Bolton bastard. There is nothing…nothing that Jon wouldn’t do out of love for his family. He’s not like Father…he was rigid whereas Jon is flexible. Jon loves you, you have to know that…to him you will always be his little sister”.

Arya’s face took on a look of caution. Then she leaned forward.

“All right…but I insist that you keep this information within the confines of your marriage”, she said conspiratorially. “I kill people for a living”.

Sansa blinked rapidly, trying to process the enormity of her sister’s words. 

“Dear gods…” she whispered as the words sank in. “But surely you don’t…enjoy it?”

Arya gave her a cold smile.

“I take a great deal of pride in my work”, she replied stiffly. “I honour each and every contract to the best of my ability”.

“Arya…these are people we’re talking about, not legal arrangements. You’ve just admitted to me that you are a hired thug”, exclaimed Sansa. “Have you never had any compassion for the people you’ve killed?”

“Of course”, replied Arya scornfully. “I’m not a monster, Sansa. I do have feelings. But I’ve had to compartmentalize my feelings in order to do my job”. 

“I could never do such a thing”, said Sansa with a shake of her head. She felt her hands trembling at the thought.

“I know”, said Arya. “But did you never fantasize about sticking a knife in Petry Baelish’s heart and twisting it just so… and then watching the astonishment and confusion on his face as his life slowly drained away?”

Sansa flushed and nodded slightly. 

Arya laughed.

“Meting out vengeance gives you a rush, Sansa”, said Arya, her eyes glittering. “It’s almost as good as sex…sometimes even better”.

Sansa gaped at her. And then she understood.

“Cersei…” she croaked.

Arya nodded as she relaxed into the chair, placing her hands behind her head.

“That was such an easy kill”, she said with relish. “She had been on my list since the beginning but she was always too heavily protected. Until you and Jon destroyed her and she was forced to take refuge with the Silent Sisters. Smart move, by the way…very commendable. But you two lack the necessary killer instinct so it was up to me to finish her off. It was so simple. I merely had to disguise myself as an innocent young acolyte. I befriended her by sneaking wine into her cell, letting her take me under her wing and listening to her rants. On her last night, she railed again about the two of you, vowing revenge. I grew tired of listening to her so I slipped the poison into her drink and it was done”.

“And…Ser Meryn?” asked Sansa.

Arya tilted her head to one side with a small smile.

“Ah, well…that one was a little trickier. I thought it would be so easy. I wormed my way into the Eyrie by posing as a serving wench. My plan was to seduce the fool, kill him and push him out the Moon Door to hide the crime. But I had to make a slight adjustment to my process. You see, I learned after failing initially that I was the wrong sex. It turns out that Ser Meryn preferred the company of young boys. So after making that necessary change, it was relatively easy to lure him to his death”.

Sansa paled.

“But how…?” she stammered.

Arya laid a finger against the side of her nose and tapped it gently.

“That, sweetling is a trade secret…one that I shall never reveal. It keeps me...elusive. And it kept Jon from recognizing me at the Eyrie, although that damn wolf’s blood of his made it difficult for me to keep an eye on him. He always seemed to sense my presence when I tried to melt into the background”, she replied. 

Sanas leaned forward.

“And what do you intend to do now?” she asked softly. 

Arya remained silent for a few seconds before responding.

“I would like to stay for a while. I need to rediscover the family I lost all those years ago. I could help with Rickon…” she replied before her voice drifted away.

She paused and Sansa could see the tears forming at the corners of her sister’s eyes. I give thanks to the gods, thought Sansa, that she is not completely lost. A spark of humanity still remains. 

Arya brushed away her tears impatiently, her hands fisted like a child’s.

“And I want those beautiful children of yours to get to know their aunt”, she continued as her voice began to break. 

Sansa lunged forward to gather her sister in her arms. 

“You will stay as long as you need to”, she whispered fiercely as she felt Arya tremble before her walls came tumbling down.


	70. Chapter 70

“Seriously?” exclaimed Arya. Then she balled up the messages and threw them on the fire in disgust before storming from the room.

Sansa glared at Jon who held his hand over mouth to suppress his mirth while Sam stared open-mouthed at the mounds of paper as they twirled and twisted in the flames. 

Sansa sighed when she realized that she was going to have to deal with this one. 

“Sam, please inform these men that my sister is not entertaining any offers of marriage at this time nor for the foreseeable future”, she said. Sam nodded and issued a curt bow before exiting the room.

Then she turned to Jon who was still chuckling.

“Really, Jon?” she said, quite exasperated. “You need to have Sam reissue the notice that Arya is not for sale. I don’t understand why these men are so persistent”.

“It isn’t often that a marriageable woman with connections to a royal house comes on the market”, he replied. “Maybe they are hoping I might change my mind”.

“She is not a cow that is up for auction”, she retorted. “Please ensure that the message is clearer this time or she may decide to leave sooner than expected”.

Jon was still smiling. 

“And”, she added, “I’ll remind you of this when they come sniffing after your daughters”.

That sobered him up quickly she noted with satisfaction. Then she shooed him from the room and told him to go make amends with his good-sister. 

Initially, Jon’s reunion with Arya was more joyous and lacking in subtext compared to Sansa’s. But then Jon and Arya’s relationship had always been different. 

Growing up in Winterfell, they were both keenly aware that they were the outliers in the Stark household. Jon was the bastard son who was in line to inherit nothing while Arya refused to conform to the ideal of the dutiful, well-bred daughter. It seemed from the day Arya was born that they were bonded for life.

She found them both perched on the fence that bordered the archery range. They were watching Val instruct her young charges, their dark heads so close together that they appeared to be almost intimate. Sansa felt a twinge of jealousy but shook it off. She knew they needed this time together to repair their relationship and she was prepared to share him for a while.

When Arya finally confessed to him her deepest, darkest secrets he told Sansa he felt as if his soul had been scorched. And then he lapsed into despair. 

“Maybe if I had stayed at Winterfell then I could have done something to prevent all this from happening”, he brooded.

“Hush”, she said soothingly. “We’ve been through all this…she was gone by the time they clapped Father in irons and I was being watched too closely by the Kingsguard. There is nothing you could have done so stop torturing yourself. The past is over and we have to focus on the future. Don’t desert her now that she is finally reaching out to us”.

But it still took him time to reconcile his memories of the lively little girl he left behind with the image of the young woman who had returned to Winterfell as a stone cold killer.

Arya was stung by his reaction. She was accustomed to Jon’s aloofness but it had never been directed at her before. So they passed like ships in the night upon meeting in the corridors. And they ensured that they were unfailingly polite while taking their meals with the rest of the family. The children were blissfully still too young and self-centered to notice the air of frostiness that surrounded their father in regards to their newly arrived aunt. That is…all except for Rickon who picked up the whiff of discord between his good-brother and sister.

He tapped Sansa on the shoulder during breakfast and leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“They’re all wrong”, he stated simply.

“Who?” asked Sansa absently as she wiped Aysane’s chin. 

Rickon’s eyes darted in Jon and Arya’s direction. Jon was trying to coax Edwyn into taking a bite of mashed sweet potato while Arya ate slowly and deliberately, clearly trying to ignore the shoving match that was starting between Torrhen and Lyra.

Sansa held up a finger as a signal for Rickon to wait for a minute. 

“Torrhen and Lyra…if you cannot behave like civilized people at the table then perhaps you would prefer to take your meals with the animals out in the yard”, she said sternly.

Torrhen and Lyra lowered their hands and eyes and sat in cowed silence before Sansa nodded at them to resume eating. 

“Honestly”, muttered Sansa, shaking her head, “there is no excuse for such bad behaviour during meal time”.

And then she caught the look of understanding that passed between Jon and Arya. It was the look of two people sharing the same joke. In that brief moment, they smiled at each other as if they had both recalled a shared happy memory from the distant past. 

Sansa glanced at the two of them suspiciously. 

“What’s so funny?” she asked. 

The two of them exchanged guilty looks before Arya spoke up.

“It’s just…you reminded us of Mother. She used to say the same thing when we started acting up at the table”, she explained.

Sansa flushed and smiled as she dipped down to press a kiss on the top of Alysane’s silvery head. 

“I come by it honestly, don’t I, sweet thing”, she murmured as she watched Jon and Arya carefully from beneath her lowered eyelashes.

As the table was being cleared by the servants, Jon rose and passed Edwyn to his nursemaid. As he turned to leave he suddenly stopped and caught Arya’s arm as she brushed past. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“I plan on doing some training later on this morning and I…I wondered if you cared to join me?” he asked hesitantly. 

Arya glanced at Sansa briefly before replying.

“I would love to”, she answered warmly. 

“Good”, said Jon briskly. “I’ll fetch you when I’m ready”. 

After Jon left, Arya lingered in the room as Sansa issued instructions to the servants and deposited kisses on the children’s upturned faces before they were herded off to the nursery and the library where Rickon was scheduled for a lesson with the new maester. 

After the din had died down, Arya sidled up to Sansa and took her hand and raised it to her lips.

“Thank you”, Arya whispered. 

“For what?” replied Sansa. “He came back to you of his own accord”.

“I know”, said Arya. “But I also know that he wouldn’t have without your encouragement”.

Sansa patted her hand.

“Give him time to thaw, Arya”, said Sansa. “He loves you deeply but he’s having difficulty accepting the path you have chosen. It certainly wasn’t the future he envisioned for you”.

“War changes everything”, whispered Arya as she stared into the middle distance, her eyes taking on a haunted quality. “Either you adapt or you die”. 

Then she turned back to Sansa.

“So I chose to live”, she growled, “and then make my enemies pay for their transgressions”.

That initial sparring match soon became the first of many. The yard became their middle ground, a meeting place of sorts where they could sort out their differences and air their grievances. 

Sansa watched Arya produce Needle that morning. Jon looked at her in astonishment when she brandished the small sword, battered and slightly bent but still lethal. He ran his fingers along its length and admired Mikken’s workmanship once more. 

“I’m amazed you’ve kept it all this time”, he said with a low whistle before passing it back to her.

She carefully wrapped it up in a soft cloth before setting it aside. It was meant for a child and was no match for Longclaw.

“Until now it was my only connection to home, to family…and especially to you”, she said as turned towards him. “It has always been a token to remind me of who I really am…Arya Stark, a daughter of Winterfell…sister to Robb, Sansa, Bran and Rickon and, most importantly, to you, Jon. Because no matter who they say you are, you will always be my brother”.


	71. Chapter 71

Ayra let out a string of expletives worthy of a sailor on shore leave as the blast of wind nearly knocked her off her feet. 

Rickon had already dropped to the muddy ground and was cowering, his arms placed over his head, with Needle still clutched in his hand.

Sansa set her basket of flowers down before rushing over to their aid. Arya had sheathed her sword and was already kneeling on the ground, trying to hoist Rickon up but he was refusing to budge. Shaggydog was circling him anxiously, whining and barking with his eyes fixed firmly on the sky. 

The wind was moving like waves crashing on to the shore as if signaling the imminent arrival of a storm that was massing on the horizon. Arya glanced at Sansa as her sister knelt down to give her a hand in persuading Rickon to rise up.

“We need to take shelter immediately”, shouted Sansa as they hustled Rickon towards the glass houses with Shaggydog in their wake. 

“I don’t remember any storms from our childhood that came up this suddenly and with such ferocity”, Arya yelled back as they pushed their way through the entrance.

Sansa shook her head.

“This is no storm”, she replied. “This is Jon’s dragon”.

With the telltale screeches filling the air, Arya watched in open-mouthed amazement as Jon appeared in the yard to guide the dragon safely to the ground. When he gave the all clear signal, Arya tugged on Rickon’s hand.

“Come on”, she said excitedly. “I’ll race you”.

But Rickon stood steadfast. 

“Direwolves don’t like dragons”, he declared. 

Arya glanced at Sansa who nodded in agreement. 

“But…but you rode on the dragon”, Arya said as she bent down with a perplexed look on her face. “Was it not fun?”

Rickon shook his head, his eyebrows knit together, as he stared at his feet.

“Direwolves don’t like dragons”, he repeated while Shaggydog growled softly beside him. 

Sansa bent down to retrieve her overturned basket and then gathered up the flowers that had fallen out. After straightening up she turned to Rickon.

“I know the cook has been baking all morning and I’m sure that if you put on your best manners she would be willing to give you a taste”, she said. “And she might have a treat for Shaggydog, too, if you ask nicely”. 

Rickon raised his head eagerly. 

“C’mon, Shaggydog”, he said as he began to charge towards the kitchen. 

Sansa glanced at Jon who was adjusting the saddle that had been placed on Rhaegal’s back. Then she turned back to Arya.

“Go to him”, she urged her.

With the chickens clucking furiously in the background, Sansa watched Arya flit across the yard towards the green dragon. Rhaegal swiveled its head as soon as she came within a few feet, fixing its bulging yellow eyes on her. Its tongue darted out and dragged slowly over its snout before letting out a puff of black smoke. 

The thrumming and heaving of the dragon concealed the sound of her approach so Jon didn’t sense her presence until she was almost within touching distance. 

“Jon”, she called out.

He finished buckling the strap before turning towards the sound of her voice. 

“Be careful, Arya”, he warned. “Dragons can be fickle creatures”. 

“Jon”, she said as she slowed her advance, “please take me with you”.

He turned to her with a sigh.

“Arya, it’s going to be very boring up there. I plan on meeting with the engineers first before we visit the underground caves where the veins were found”, he replied as he patted Rhaegal’s side. “I promise I will take you for a ride when I return”. 

The dragon snorted and clawed at the ground impatiently. 

Sansa moved closer as she realized that Arya was going to need her help convincing him. 

“Take her with you, Jon”, she said. “She’s bored and restless here. There are only so many times she can endure Rickon’s recitation of The Odd Little Duckling”. 

Arya had been amazingly patient with Rickon, spending hours with him in the library as he laboriously picked out words from the books in the children’s section and performed rudimentary sums. Sansa was impressed.

“Well, you have to have a lot of patience in my line of work”, replied Arya nonchalantly. 

Sansa swallowed. This was another not so subtle reminder of Arya’s carefully honed skills.

Jon sighed.

“The expedition won’t take just a few days, Arya”, he said. “Once we reach Castle Black we’ll be setting out on horse so we might be gone a fortnight or longer. It will be a long, hard slog. And we’ll be underground part of the time so you will have to be prepared to stumble and crawl through some dark, wormy passages to reach the caverns”.

Arya glanced at Sansa who nodded at her in encouragement. Then she squared her shoulders and looked boldly at him.

“I’m quite prepared to do whatever is required of me. I’m not some soft girl who jumps and screams at the sight of spiders and rodents…you know me better than that”, she replied. 

Jon hesitated while Arya leaned forward.

“Come on, Jon”, she said softly. “What do I have to do to prove to you that I’m tough enough…kill somebody?”

Jon faced turned black as thunder while Arya grinned cheekily.

“Arya, that’s not funny”, he hissed. “Go get your stuff and be quick about it”.

Arya fled the yard to collect her belongings while Jon waited impatiently next to Rhaegal, glaring at Sansa. 

“Did you put her up to this?” he asked.

Sansa tried to look innocent.

“Really, Jon, anybody can see that she’s stifling here. She needs to get out of here for a while and spread her wings. And she’s been itching to get on that dragon ever since she learned of its existence”, replied Sansa. “Indulge her, please…she’s been trying very hard to fit in but I believe she’s at the end of her tether”.

Their conversation was interrupted by Arya’s return. She was clutching a small bundle of clothes and she was dressed in fur leggings and a coat. 

Kisses and hugs were exchanged before Sansa finally bid them both farewell. 

She fervently hoped that the discoveries made by the engineers, with the aid of the Free Folk who still made their home north of Castle Black, were going to yield the results needed to make the new northern kingdom prosperous. The lumber trade was still lucrative but Jon knew that it wouldn’t be enough to sustain them in perpetuity. 

“When I lived amongst the wildlings, I heard talk of rich, underground mineral deposits. But they didn’t have the means nor the knowledge to extract them from deep below the surface. Or they simply had no use for gold and gems…what good were shiny rocks if you couldn’t eat them?” he explained.

He had sent two engineers north, men skilled in the detection and extraction of precious metals, to meet with a few of the Free Folk who guided them through the maze of underground caverns to take samples and determine the likelihood of turning these locations in full-fledged mining operations.

The engineers sent messages south indicating that three sites were most promising and urged Jon to accompany them to these locations so he could judge for himself. Jon was figuratively rubbing his hands with glee at the prospect of immense wealth pouring into the north.

“One day maybe we’ll have the Iron Bank coming to us, cap in hand, asking to borrow our money”, he said with satisfaction.

Time passed swiftly after Jon and Arya left for the far north. Sansa’s days were busy with domestic duties and appointments with guests who came to discuss doing business with the new territory. 

Nevertheless, she felt uneasy as the feeling that they should have returned by now overwhelmed her. So she made it a point to stop by to speak with the new young maester who had taken over from Sam. 

“I’ve had no replies recently, my queen”, he said in response to her inquiry. “Shall I send another raven?”

No, she said with a shake of her head. She knew it would be pointless as the region north of the Castle Black still played havoc with the ravens’ instinct for navigation. 

So she continued to fill her days and wait patiently for them to come back.

She batted at the hand that gently shook her shoulder and squeezed open her eyes. The room was dimly lit in the early dawn light. Still heavy with sleep, she turned to see who needed her attention so early in the morning. 

“Jon”, she exclaimed, wiping the sleep from her eyes, “when did you arrive?”

“Just now”, he replied as he sat down on the bed. 

Hazily she noticed that he not yet removed his outer layers of clothing.

“Are you not staying?” she asked looking puzzled.

He shook his head.

“Get dressed, Sansa”, he said as he rose up and crossed over to open up the shutters to reveal the rosy morning light. “I need you to return north with me”.

“Why?” she asked as she scrambled out of bed. “Has something happened to Arya?”

“Arya is fine…she’s waiting for me to return with you”, he replied, clearly agitated. “Shall I summon one of your ladies to help you pack?”

Sansa took a few steps to grab his hand before he reached the door.

“Jon…what’s going on?” she demanded. “Why the urgent need for me to go back with you?”

He turned, took her in his arms and leaned his forehead against hers.

“We’ve found Bran”, replied.


	72. Chapter 72

Sansa stared in awe at the giant weirwood tree as it stretched its white limbs into the cobalt blue sky. She lifted her eyes to its bright red canopy and listened to the chattering of the birds high in the branches as the wind rustled through its leaves. Two horses that were tethered to its lowest branch bucked and reared as Rhaegal glowered at them through half-lidded eyes. 

She closed her eyes to take in the scent of the snowbells that were scattered across the meadow which surrounded the rocky knoll. Then she opened them again when she felt Jon’s hand on her shoulder.

“Ready?” he murmured. 

She took a deep breath and nodded. 

“Lead me to him”, she said. 

They walked around to the other side of the tree. Then Jon began to peel back piles of brush, revealing a hole just large enough for an average sized man to crawl through. Sansa looked somewhat askance. 

“Will I have to crawl the whole distance?” she asked. 

Jon shook his head.

“No, once you enter then there’s a bit of a drop before the passageway opens up. But there isn’t much headroom and the floor is riddled with rocks and roots so be careful how you go”.

She hesitated once more.

“How will I see?” she asked, her voice tinged with anxiety. “We haven’t brought a torch”.

“You will have to feel your way for the first part of the journey. It gets easier as we draw nearer as the cave is graced with phosphorescent lights”, he replied.

Jon entered first, holding out his arms for her as she knelt down and pushed away at a branch which threatened to scratch her cheek before scrambling through the hole. Then she swung her legs over the ledge and, with Jon’s hands gripping her waist, dropped lightly on to a packed dirt floor. 

She stooped and began to walk slowly, trailing her fingers along the clammy walls. They were quickly losing the light and within minutes they were plunged into total darkness. 

“Jon?” she cried out nervously.

“Take my hand, sweetheart”, he replied.

She reached forward to grasp his proffered hand. 

“Don’t leave me”, she whispered as she clutched it tightly. 

“Not a chance”, he replied as he gave her hand a squeeze. 

They stumbled blindly through the twists and turns as they slowly descended further into the bowels of the earth. When she finally spotted some light curling around a bend, she let out a cry of relief. 

There was a fresh, earthy scent to the air as they drew closer to the light. It reminded Sansa of a forest after a heavy rainfall had saturated the soil and water continued to roll off the leaves long after the rain has ceased.  
As they turned the last corner, the passageway opened up into large cave. Small pinpoints of light dotted the walls giving the illusion of a starry sky on a clear night. Tendrils of roots hung from the ceiling, fluttering slightly in the breeze as exchanges of damp air wafted through the chamber. And scattered across the floor were the bones of creatures long since passed.

But it was the scene in the center of cave that stopped Sansa short. The gnarled roots of the ancient weirwood had plunged through the ceiling of the cave. And beneath them, sat upon a throne comprised of twisted wooden limbs, was an auburn-haired boy on the cusp of manhood. 

His eyes were closed and he sat so still, so silent, that Sansa shifted her gaze to his chest, watching it rise and fall with every shallow breath. 

“Sometimes he looks like he’s sleeping…but he’s not”, said Arya emerging from the shadows. 

Sansa glanced at her.

“What does he do then?” asked Sansa.

“He watches the world”, replied Arya. 

She felt Jon move closer to her side.

“He’s been watching all of us like a divine presence”, he said. 

“He has become a very powerful warg, Sansa”, said Arya as she knelt down before Bran. “All simple life forms are his to command from the birds flying in the sky to the fish swimming in the sea”.

Sansa looked at her sharply.

“How can you be so sure?” she asked doubtfully.

Jon leaned in.

“Because he knows small, intimate details of our lives that only somebody who was there would know”, he said in a low voice. 

Sansa flushed and considered this thoughtfully. If true, then the scope of Bran’s abilities went beyond the limitations of her comprehension. 

Bran began to stir just as Arya reached out to prod him gently.

“She’s here”, whispered Arya. 

Bran’s eyelids fluttered open and he regarded Sansa gravely. Then gradually a smile lit up his face. 

“Sister”, he said warmly.

Sansa uttered a small cry and, after a couple of faltering steps, reached out to embrace her younger brother. 

“How long have you been here?” she asked as she groped him gently, noting the slenderness of his frame but the firmness of his flesh, before releasing him. At least he was not half-starved like Rickon.

He shook his head ruefully.

“I’ve lost track of time”, he replied. “Days, months, years…they have all run together. Ultimately it doesn’t matter…time itself has no divisions to mark its passage. It is indifferent to the affairs of men. And since I am capable of moving between the past, the present and the future with equal ease, the marking of time matters little to me”. 

He smiled beatifically while Sansa regarded him with skepticism. How, she reasoned, could a boy unable to use his legs have survived all these years? She glanced around the chamber looking for clues.

“The Children of the Forest nurture and protect me”, he said as if reading her mind. 

She looked startled. 

“I thought they were all gone, hunted to extinction by the Andals”, she said. “I was told that all that was left of them were the faces carved into the weirwood trees”.

Bran shook his head.

“Merely gone to ground”, he replied. “They kept themselves hidden out of fear of the Others”. 

“Why are you here, Bran?” she asked. “What do they want from you?”

“They needed me to aid Jon in his fight to deliver us from the Others”, he said simply. 

Sansa whirled and looked at Jon who was staring at Bran. 

“I don’t understand”, she said in a halting voice. 

“I was by Jon’s side during the battle for the dawn. The birds, the animals and the trees… they were all his allies. Jon was our chosen champion but I was the unseen hand to ensure that that we won the war”, he explained. 

Jon straightened and there was a flash of understanding in his eyes.

“The eagle”, he said.

Bran nodded as Jon turned towards Sansa and Arya.

“There…there was this eagle that would appear in the midst of battle. Normally the birds had enough sense to keep clear of a dragon but this eagle would appear of nowhere and plague Rhaegal until it began to give chase. There was many a time I lost control of the dragon and I cursed that damn bird for distracting us. But invariably the move changed the course of the battle which led to…victory”.

He stared at Bran in curiosity.

“How did you know?” he asked. “How could you possibly foresee how it should all play out?”

Bran sat back with a knowing smile on his face.

“The trees”, he began, “the trees have borne witness to every major event since time immemorial. They granted me access to their memories. I was able to view the original battle for the dawn thousands of years ago. I grew to recognize the weaknesses of the Others and learned how to minimize their strengths. I came to understand my role in guiding you through battle after battle, pushing them back, creating holes their defenses until your final clash with the Great Other”.

Bran paused to take a breath.

“I was with you, Jon”, he continued, “I was with you every step of the way. Victory had to be ours, brother, because anything less would have meant complete annihilation”.

Bran closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the chair. His atrophied legs dangled listlessly.

“And now”, he concluded with a sigh, “my task is completed and my journey is over”.

A look of alarm passed over Sansa’s face.

“Bran”, she said in a panic as Arya and Jon crept to his side. “Don’t leave us now that we have finally found you”.

He opened one eye and then the other. Sansa could sense an air of mischief surrounding him and it served to remind her that despite his lofty words, Bran was still very much a child.

“I’m not leaving all of you, Sansa”, he said with a sly grin, “I’m ready for you to take me home to Winterfell”.


	73. Chapter 73

Stay”, urged Sansa.

Arya turned to her with a bemused expression on her face.

“Sansa, you always knew that this would be temporary”, she said as she returned to her packing. 

Sansa reached out and took the garment from her sister’s hands. 

“Where will you go?” Sansa asked.

Arya sighed as she clasped her hands and leaned against the bed.

“Dorne”, she said flatly. “At least…at first. After that…who knows”. 

“Will you stay with the royal family?” asked Sansa.

Arya nodded.

“Jon has already notified Arianne that I am coming”, she replied.

Sansa flushed when she realized that Jon already knew of Arya’s imminent departure but had failed to let her know. Arya grew flustered when she saw the thunderous look on her sister’s face.

“Sansa…I told him not to tell you because…well, I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go at first and I wanted to wait until I was sure of what my plans were…” she said as her voice trailed off.

Sansa continued to regard her with pursed lips as Arya ducked her head looking shamefaced. 

“Look, Sansa…” she said glancing up at her sister. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner but I was afraid of what your reaction would be. We…we’ve never been this close before”.

Sansa’s face softened. 

“I’ll miss you terribly”, she whispered holding out her arms.

Arya uttered a small cry before embracing her sister tightly. They murmured endearments to each other before finally breaking apart. Then Sansa hopped up on the bed beside her.

“Surely Jon could take you”, said Sansa as she smoothed out her heavy skirt. 

“No”, replied Arya as she continued to pack. “Tempting…but no. This will be a personal journey of sorts. I plan on rediscovering a small part of myself that I sent off packing many years ago. But I promise you I won’t sleep rough and I’ll stick to the main roads”.

“But Arya”, said Sansa, “it’s dangerous for a woman to be traveling alone. Please let us send some guards to accompany you”.

Arya paused and uttered a short laugh before turning to her.

“You have obviously forgotten that I was a lone wolf for many years, Sansa”, she replied. “I have no need of companionship. Besides, I rarely travel as a woman”.

She gave her sister a knowing look.

“Nevertheless”, Sansa continued, “it would be comforting to know that you wouldn’t have to fend off the footpads on your own”. 

Arya straightened up and laid aside the shirt she had been folding.

“I don’t intend to be alone for long”, she said glancing up. “I’ve been having the wolf dreams again. They’ve been more frequent as of late and I know I’ve heard her calling to me in the night”.

Sansa swallowed.

“Nymeria”, she said hoarsely, her face betraying the long buried feelings of guilt that bubbled to the surface. 

Ayra nodded.

“Are you sure?” asked Sansa. 

“Positive”, she replied as she directed her gaze towards the window. “She’s close…I can sense her out there, just waiting for me to go to her”. 

She flashed her sister a smile. 

“Soon we’ll be reunited”, she said softly as she gathered up her gloves, a distant look clouding her eyes. “And I can finally close the wound that was opened when we made that journey so long ago”.

They gathered near the stables the next morning to make their final farewells. While the wind chased the clouds and lifted her skirts, Sansa brushed away the tears from her eyes as she watched Jon and Arya say their goodbyes. 

Ghost and Summer nosed at Shaggydog as Arya mounted her horse. Then she saluted her family one more time before turning her horse towards the gate with the three direwolves nipping close at her heels, eagerly anticipating the reunion with their sister. 

Jon slipped an arm around Sansa’s shoulders as the tears streamed down her cheeks. She leaned her head on his shoulder for comfort.

“What if she never comes back, Jon?” she sniffed.

He lowered his head to deposit a kiss on her temple.

“She’ll be back”, he replied. “This is the only true home she has ever known. And if she ever decides to stay then we’ll sever some land and build her a keep of her own. And there will be no pressure to marry because she belongs to nobody but herself”.

They stood there for a long time, watching the children play in the yard. Rickon pushed Bran around the yard in a lightweight chair mounted on sturdy wheels while Bran pretended to be a dragon. He roared and reached out to grab at Torrhen and Lyra who skipped away in mock terror, screaming and laughing as they hid behind their parents for safety. 

Sansa was gratified to see Bran engaged in childish games. So often he seemed like an old man trapped in an adolescent body. She feared that Bran sometimes existed only in his mind or in the bodies of others and that eventually he would become divorced from his own helpless body. 

She watched him spend what felt like hours sitting before the open window in his room, his hands folded neatly on his lap and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Sometimes she would sit with him, patiently waiting for him to return to the here and now. 

Oftentimes she would quiz him about what he had seen out there beyond the walls of Winterfell. He would sometimes regale her with outlandish stories of creatures once believed to be mythological nonsense…the type of creatures you threatened naughty children with in order to get them to behave. 

He smiled and shook his head when she would challenge him and accuse him of aping Old Nan.

“They are very real, Sansa”, he whispered, his face solemn. And then would he burst out laughing when he saw her eyes grow as big as saucers.

“I’m exaggerating a little”, he said as he choked on his mirth. “But not a lot…there are many creatures in the far north that remain hidden from our prying eyes. But as long as we keep our distance and don’t disturb their habitat then they’ll not bother us”. 

Bran frequently requested an audience with Jon after warging. The two of them would spend long periods of time together behind doors barred to everyone except the occasional servant. And when Sansa asked them what they were doing together they were evasive and answered cryptically. She grew increasingly suspicious of them.

“Jon”, she asked one evening as the two of them readied themselves for bed, “has Bran become your Master of Whispers?”

Jon paused briefly as he pulled on his nightshirt. Then he tugged it down before turning to Sansa.

“What if I told you it was his idea?” he responded.

Sansa set her hair brush down on her dressing table and glanced at him.

“He’s too young to be indulging in such subterfuge”, she chastened him. “He’s barely a child”.

Jon rose from the bed and crossed the floor to stand behind her. He draped his arms over her shoulders and kissed the back of her neck. 

“To you he is still your crippled younger brother who is need of your protection”, he murmured. “But to me he is a valuable adviser who flies unnoticed all over the kingdom. He sees things that others cannot and brings me news from the far flung corners of the realm. He has seen and done more in his lifetime than men many times older and I value his counsel”. 

He squatted down beside her and took her face in his large hands. 

“He acknowledges that he is still in need of our protection because of his physical limitations. But let us not lose sight of how powerful he has become despite those same limitations. He has found his place in this world, Sansa…a place of his choosing. He is no longer lost to us and for that we should be grateful. But don’t try to make out that he is the helpless little boy that he once was…he has moved beyond that state and so should we”, he said quietly as he held her gaze.

She stared back at him for a few seconds before bowing her head slightly and nodding. 

She found Bran alone in his room the next morning, only his body present. She knelt down by his side, watching his vacant face anxiously. She reached out to gently jostle his arm, heedless of Jon’s advice to leave him alone when he was in this condition.

“Bran”, she pleaded softly, “Bran, I need to talk with you”. 

His expression remained unchanged until she heard a quick intake of breath and his eyes rolled forward in their sockets. 

“Sansa”, he gasped, “please take me to see Jon immediately. There are three visitors approaching from the east and I need to speak to him urgently before he receives them”.

“Why?” she asked uneasily, alarmed by his tone. 

He reached down to grasp the wheels of his chair in a vain attempt to move them himself. 

“Because he needs to know that these are the men we’ve been waiting for”, he replied before she rose to help him.


	74. Chapter 74

Sansa ran her fingers lightly over the scaly egg as Sam read out the terms of the agreement.

“So, in return for two dragon eggs, we agree to pay 3% of the net profits from our goldmine during the first six moons once it is fully operational. However, there is a stipulation that if the eggs fail to hatch or if the hatchlings fail to thrive after a period of six moons then the contract is null and void”, he said in a monotone voice. He looked up as he laid the paper on the desk.

“In other words, either we get dragons out of the bargain or they get nothing”, he clarified. “Are you sure they will agree to this?”

Jon sat back in his chair and poured himself more wine. 

“Where else can they peddle these eggs?” he asked after taking a sip. “We have the only known dragon in the world and there have already been numerous fruitless attempts to hatch the eggs. They even tried to duplicate the events of the funeral pyre that led to the hatching of Daenerys’ dragons with futile results”.

He smacked his lips in smug satisfaction after taking another sip.

“They have no choice but to comply with our terms”, he added as he glanced at Bran who nodded back.

Sansa listened to the scratching of Sam’s quill as he completed the contract before passing it to Jon to sign and affix his seal in the molten wax. Then Sam rose and positioned himself behind Bran’s chair.

“Ready?” asked Sam as he passed the contract to Bran. 

“Ready”, replied Bran as Sam gave the chair a gentle push and wheeled him out the door. The sentry posted outside the door gave Jon and Sansa a brief nod before closing the door after the departing counselors.

Sansa turned to Jon with a wry smile and a raised eyebrow.

“More dragons?” she commented. “Isn’t one enough of a burden?”

“Rhaegal could live for another hundred years or die tomorrow”, said Jon. “If that should happen then what is an ice dragon king to do without a dragon?”

Sansa sighed and plopped down on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“I see…so there is a need to preserve your reputation here”, she replied.

“And provide an enduring legacy for our children”, he said as he nuzzled her cheek. “Dragons are part of the history that we are making, my love. They need to become an essential part of our reign”.

There is some validity to this, thought Sansa. The songs that were circulating around the north attested more or less to a willingness to accept the dragon as a protector of the fledgling kingdom. And two more dragons would be insurance for their continued existence…as long as they were committed to keeping them well fed and under control. 

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asked.

He gave her a small smile.

“I accepted dragons as part of our future long ago while you still wrestled with the notion”, he teased. “So…more importantly, are you ready?”

She tilted her head to one side and then leaned forward.

“I’m in it for the long haul”, she said with a sigh as she brushed her lips against his. 

The recent acquisitions remained on display during the celebratory evening meal. The two eggs, nestled together in an intricately carved wooden chest, inlaid with ivory and jade and lined in deep blue velvet cloth, were flanked by a bored looking sentry. 

Sansa studied the expressions on the faces of the guests as hundreds of pairs of eyes regarded the eggs from surreptitious glances to bold stares. Most of the guests openly expressed their approval of the purchase. Of those, some had quietly, albeit reluctantly, come to the conclusion that dragons were now part of northern lore and an integral cog in their system of defense. Others, more sycophantic in nature, endorsed the purchase with loud enthusiasm in order to curry favour with the young monarchs. However, a small group of skeptics and non-believers, who had mainly been victimized by Rhaegal’s voracious appetite for grazing livestock, wisely kept their opinions to themselves. Even though Jon had a reputation of being a benevolent and evenhanded king, he was still a king and his decisions were absolute and not open to discussion. 

Sansa’s heart went out to this small group of dissenters who glowered into their cups and muttered amongst themselves. She herself had thought that the possible introduction of two more dragons might be a tougher sell and she was still at a loss as to how they would fed and housed in order to minimize having them cast their malevolent gaze freely over the surrounding countryside.

But Jon, she soon realized, already had a plan. 

“There is a system of caves to the northeast surrounded by fertile grazing lands”, he explained as he unfurled the map and pointed at a spot near Winterfell. “The hot springs feed into these caves keeping them warm year round. We have already begun to buy up herds of elk, sheep and other livestock to keep the Rhaegal fed and prevent it from straying too far and disrupting the farmers’ livelihood”. 

He laid small stones on the corners of the map to anchor the curling edges.

“We can build up these herds and increase the grazing grounds for future generations”, he added as he leaned over the map, his finger tracing a border around the location of the caves. 

“And in winter?” she asked.

Jon smiled and shook his head slightly.

“We’ll build out buildings to house the livestock”, he said. “This will be no different than a farming operation although on a much grander scale”.

She looked at him with doubt in her eyes.

“This will work, Sansa”, he said as he gathered her into his arms. “Bran and Sam have drawn up plans and are confident that this can be done with minimal damage”.

She didn’t like his choice of the latter words and it showed in the crease of her brow.

“There is always the risk of the unknown and unforeseen”, he said in a low tone of voice. “You’re just going to have to have faith that every last detail will be taken into account. And then…pray that it doesn’t go all pear-shaped”.

After the meal concluded the eggs were removed to Jon’s solar. Torrhen looked at the eggs with a mixture of curiosity tinged with fear while Lyra briefly traced the ridges of the scales with her pudgy fingers before withdrawing them quickly, a guilty look crossing her face. 

“Pretty”, she declared. 

Jon knelt down between the two of them and placed his arms across their shoulders. He turned to Torrhen.

“As the oldest, you get to choose first”, he said.

Torrhen looked startled and swiveled to look beseechingly at his mother. She gave him an encouraging smile. 

“If all goes to plan then you shall have a dragon of your own”, she said smoothly. She prayed that he couldn’t see how her lips quivered when she spoke. 

Torrhen turned back to his father, seeking confirmation of his words. Then he swallowed and reached out to the egg coloured in brilliant shades of scarlet and gold and touched it lightly. His eyes grew in astonishment as the egg rocked slightly in response to his warm touch.

Jon rose to his feet and plucked the egg from the casket. 

“Hold out your hands”, he commanded. Torrhen raised his hands, palms up, to receive the gift. Then he raised his eyes silently to his father’s face.

“You will sleep with this egg in your bed until the turn of the next full moon”, Jon explained. “Lyra will do the same with the other egg”.

“Then what?” asked Torrhen after a few seconds hesitation.

“Then, the gods willing, Rhaegal shall birth two dragons…one for you, the other for Lyra”, replied Jon as he ruffled his son’s curls. 

Lyra picked up the other egg, painted in mottled shades of silver and sapphire, and cradled it in her arms. Then she began to hum a nursery song as she swayed back and forth with her prize.

Jon nodded to the nursery maids and the sentries to return the children to the nursery after they had made their final goodnights with their mother. 

“I would rather have a direwolf”, whispered Torrhen into his mother’s ear as he clung to her, fearful that his father might overhear and be displeased. 

“So would I, little love”, whispered Sansa in return. “So would I”.


	75. Chapter 75

“Seven hells”, said Sansa with a grimace.

She set aside her embroidery hoop and stuck her bleeding finger in her mouth. After a few seconds, she could feel small hands groping her leg as Edwyn pulled himself up on unsteady feet and grinned at her madly. Then he stuck his own small finger in his mouth and made loud sucking noises. She leaned down to rub her nose against his and he cackled happily as he reached up to grab at it. 

“You are such a little card”, murmured Sansa as she pulled him on to her lap. Then she wrapped her arms around the squirming child and planted a loud wet kiss on his brow after smoothing away his dark thatch of hair. He looked up at her with his exotic violet eyes which were crinkled in delight. 

As anticipated, she felt another set of small hands creeping on to her lap as Aysane’s clear blue eyes, capped by her silvery hair, peered over the folds of Sansa’s gown. The little girl laid a small cloth toy in her mother’s lap and waited patiently for the forthcoming praise. 

“Thank you, sweetling”, said Sansa, swelling with pleasure, “it’s very kind of you to share your bunny with me”.

Alysane raised one arm expectantly and made urgent grunting sounds. Sansa nodded at the nursemaid who reached down to lift the child on to her mother’s lap. Sansa knew that whatever one twin did, the other was always quick to follow.

The twins burrowed against her chest facing each other. Alysane batted at her brother’s hands as he reached out to tug on her hair. He shrugged in defeat and Sansa observed how their facial expressions mirrored each other as they squealed and carried on a conversation in a language all their own. 

Sansa glanced towards the window as she noticed that the steady roar of noise coming from the yard suddenly grew louder, punctuated by shrieks that rose above the din. And therein lay the challenge of differentiating between Lyra’s shrill cries of happiness and her equally vociferous wails of despair. 

The nursemaid rose to check on the cause of the disturbance but before she could report back there was a rap on the door. 

“Lady Arya has returned, your Grace”, said the sentry after he was admitted entrance. “And his Grace has requested that you meet with them both outside”.

Sansa’s face registered surprise as she lowered the children to the floor.

“Well”, she said as she straightened up, “this is unexpected”.

She briefly stroked the children’s hair before picking up her shawl and tying it roughly around her shoulders. 

“She might have given us some warning”, she sniffed in annoyance as she left the room. “But apparently that would have been out of character”. 

A small crowd had gathered just inside the gates and within its ranks Sansa could hear her sister’s voice interspersed by peals of laughter. And in between she swore she could hear the yips of what sounded like a pack of young dogs. 

The crowd parted slightly and she could see Jon turning towards her with a beckoning smile. And firmly grasped in his arms was a very young grey and white mix direwolf, not long birthed by her reckoning. 

“Sansa”, yelled Arya, “at long last”.

Arya held open her arms and ignored the slight scowl on her sister’s face. Sansa relented and embraced her sister heartily. Protocol can go to all seven hells just this once, she thought as she buried her face against her sister’s shoulder. 

“What is all this?” asked Sansa as they parted, although she already suspected the answer. Four little direwolf pups raced between Torrhen and Lyra while their mother panted quietly nearby, keeping close watch on her offspring. The pup in Jon’s grasp whimpered and wriggled to be let down to join its siblings in the chase. 

“And here I thought she was getting fat because the innkeepers were slipping her too much food when I wasn’t looking”, replied Arya from the side of her mouth. 

Sansa glanced at Nymeria’s three brothers as they pushed their way into the gathering and nosed at the little pups. Ghost appeared to be particularly attentive, so much so that Sansa had to ask.

“Have you wondered if…?” she asked leaning in towards her sister.

Arya rolled her eyes. 

“Sansa”, she replied with a dramatic sigh, “unlike some humans, direwolves are not inclined to mate with their siblings. Besides the timing is all off…she gave birth once we reached Riverrun, barely a moon’s turn after we left Winterfell. Direwolves normally take at least twice as long as that to gestate in their mother’s womb”.

They watched the children happily play with the pups for a few minutes while Jon squatted down beside Ghost and ran a hand across the direwolf’s back. 

“I wanted to surprise you”, said Arya. “We never made it past Riverrun. Nuncle agreed to keep mum while we waited for the pups to grow big enough to make the return journey home”.

It gladdened Sansa’s heart to hear her sister speak of home in such lilting tones. 

“There are three females and two males”, said Arya, her meaning clear… Jon and Sansa’s children were meant to have them.

“There is an extra female”, said Sansa, “and unless I am unknowingly with child then she must be given to another”. 

“She belongs to you, Sansa”, said Arya as her slipped her fingers around her sister’s limp hand and gave it a squeeze. 

Sansa was too stunned and overcome with emotion to respond properly. Not once in her life had she ever considered replacing her late lamented Lady, even after the sight of direwolves south of the Wall became more commonplace. Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head.

“I can’t”, she croaked. 

“Why not?” insisted Arya. “Nymeria has provided you with a special gift and it would be rude to refuse her”. 

Sansa snorted with laughter…trust Ayra to remind her of her courtesies when it came to giving offense to an animal of all things.

“I’m far too busy raising four children to make time for a direwolf pup”, she said as she waved her hand dismissively before wiping away her tears. 

Jon sidled up beside them.

“What’s wrong?” he asked sharply when he saw his wife’s face.

“You need to convince her, Jon”, pleaded Arya. “You need to convince her that taking on another direwolf pup would be a blessing…that it wouldn’t be a betrayal of Lady’s memory”.

The small pup that Jon had been holding earlier brushed up against Sansa’s skirts and then sat down quietly by her side. Jon reached down to scoop up the little direwolf and thrust her into Sansa’s arms. The pup began to lick at Sansa’s face enthusiastically.

“It’s too late, my love…she has already chosen you”, he said softly. 

Sansa started to laugh despite her misgivings. Lady’s death had signaled a series of soul crushing events from which Sansa feared she would never recover. But all the players from that dreadful day were dead now…all except her dear sister who only wanted her to recover those feelings of happiness and optimism that she lost that day. 

“I owe you this, Sansa”, said Arya. “It was partially my fault that Lady was taken from you”. 

Sansa shook her head. 

“We both played an equal part in that mummer’s farce”, she said sadly. The puppy gave her another lick and Sansa smiled before glancing sideways at Jon.

“Well…she would be companionable on those nights when you are away”, she said with a heavy sigh.

“That’s my girl”, he said brightly as he bestowed a light kiss on her brow and patted the animal’s head.

Torrhen and Lyra had already claimed their pups which left the remaining two direwolves for their younger siblings. Jon instructed that they be removed temporarily to the kennels. 

Sansa lowered her pup to the ground and watched her race after her siblings as Sansa and Arya headed towards the castle. 

“So…when is the blessed event taking place?” asked Arya as they passed through the entry.

“Two days from now”, replied Sansa. 

“I heard that Torrhen and Lyra spend their nights sleeping with scaly eggs tucked beneath their covers”, said Arya drily. 

“That”, replied Sansa, “was Sam’s doing. He read that upon the birth of a Targaryen child, a dragon egg would be left in the cradle beside the baby so that once it hatched, the child and dragon would be instantly bonded. I’m not sure that it really applies in this situation but there’s no harm nor foul under the circumstances so Jon is carrying on with the custom”.

“I would love to have a dragon of my own”, said Arya dreamily. “Death would be swift and certain as it swooped down from the sky to deliver its final gift”.

“Arya”, hissed Sansa in admonishment, “stop spouting such nonsense”.

“I’ll wager Jon turns into a cold-hearted bastard when he wargs into Rhaegal”, said Arya as she pushed open the door to Sansa’s solar. She paused when Sansa didn’t reply immediately. 

“Oooh…I’m not far off, am I”, said Arya as the smile faded from her face.

Sansa nodded soberly as she turned to close the door. 

“Dragons change you”, she replied, “but mercifully, in Jon’s case, it has only ever been temporary…mainly when he wages war”.

Arya dropped on to a chair and chewed on her lower lip.

“You’re afraid of how the presence of dragons is going to influence your children”, she remarked. 

Sansa nodded as she poked at the log burning in the fireplace.

“I fear that wielding such power will make them harder…and not necessarily better”, she replied. “And I don’t want them to lose their innocence too soon”.

“Like us, you mean?” said Arya softly.

Sansa nodded silently.

“Well, you’ll know soon enough if you can get those eggs to crack two days hence”, continued Arya. 

“I take it you’ll attend the birthing ceremony?” asked Sansa.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world”, replied Arya with an impish grin.


	76. Chapter 76

“Harmony, give that to me right now”, said Sansa sharply as she bent down to retrieve her slipper from the direwolf’s mouth. She examined it for signs of damage, taking heed of the puncture marks clustered around the toe, and made a mental note to remind the maids that all her footwear must be stored safely in the wardrobe until further notice.

“I had forgotten about their horrible teething stage”, she muttered as she slipped out of her dressing gown and crawled into bed. 

Jon grabbed the pup by the scruff of the neck and pried open her jaws. He ran his fingers lightly over her gum line until he found the needle sharp culprits. 

“She has a few poking through”, he concluded as he lowered her back to the floor and slapped her backside to shoo her away towards the hearth where she curled up reluctantly in front of the fire. “I can send her back to the kennel until all her teeth have descended”.

“That won’t necessary”, replied Sansa as she burrowed beneath the covers. “We’ll manage in the meantime”. 

Jon lowered his head over hers and slowly kissed her lips. She moaned as his lips traveled lower, deftly unlacing the ribbons on her new nightrail, never missing a beat. As his lips closed over a nipple, his tongue swirling around it to create jolts of pleasure between her thighs, she could hear the soft whimpering of the pup nearby. She stiffened in response to the sound. 

“What’s wrong?” asked Jon as he raised his head. “Do your breasts ache? Is your moonblood due?”

She raised herself up on her elbows and glanced at the little direwolf.

“I…I just can’t relax. It feels like one of the children is in the room with us”, she said. 

Jon sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He pulled on his shirt, ran his fingers through his hair and rose from the bed. Within three strides he was by the fireplace and hoisting the direwolf into his arms. 

He wrenched open the heavy door and spoke a few curt words to one of the sentries posted in the corridor before dumping the pup into the man’s arms and then slamming the door shut. 

“Where is he taking her?” asked Sansa anxiously.

“To the nursery”, Jon replied as he removed his shirt. “She’ll be happier there with her siblings. She can spend her nights with you when I am not”. 

The name she had bestowed upon her direwolf came to her during the midday meal. Torrhen had proudly announced that he had named his dark grey pet, Fang, while Lyra lisped that her fluffy white direwolf would hereby be known as Snowball. The naming of the direwolves for Alysane and Edwyn was left up to Bran and Rickon as the twins were clearly too young and non-verbal to have an opinion.

The bickering began when Bran suggested to Rickon that he choose a name for Edwyn’s wolf that was more imaginative than the prosaic Shaggydog. Sansa swore she could almost see hackles rise on the back of Rickon’s neck as he took umbrage with his brother’s comment.

“Well at least it’s appropriate…it describes Shaggydog perfectly whereas how the fuck is Summer a suitable name for such a fearsome creature?” he retorted.

“Rickon…language”, said Sansa sharply as she reprimanded him. 

Sansa had always disliked discord, especially during mealtimes. She even found lively debates difficult to endure as they frequently dissolved into shouting matches which resulted in the antagonists being banished from the table. 

When her brothers continued to snipe at each other she slammed a hand on the table and rose to her feet. Everyone stopped eating and stared at her. She rarely displayed anger openly so this was novel to everyone present.

“Could we please have a little peace and…harmony just this once?” she fumed. “We’re family so let’s call off the dogs of war and find a solution for an issue of such minor consequence”.

She sat down with a huff and observed her family trading thinly veiled smiles before silently resuming their meal. 

The clatter of spoons scraping the bowls was interrupted by a comment from Sansa’s own lips.

“They’re twins”, she said. 

“What?” asked Bran. 

“Alysane and Edwyn are twins”, she replied. “So perhaps you could choose the names from a list of famous twins in history”. 

“As long as you don’t choose Jaime and Cersei”, said Jon quietly before shoveling a spoonful of food into his mouth.

Bran and Rickon looked at each other before bursting out laughing. 

“Rickon and I could spend some time in the library this afternoon going through the books. I’m sure we can find a suitable set of names to agree upon”, said Bran. 

The older members of the royal family gathered in the godswood the next evening just after dusk. The full moon hung in the sky, shiny as a newly minted coin.

A shallow pit had been dug next to the black pool of water with the eggs resting on the ground next to it. Jon uttered a few words to summon Rhaegal and then everyone waited quietly for the dragon to come.

After a few minutes of silence, Arya shuffled restlessly before finally speaking up.

“If I’m perfectly honest this is all a bit disappointing”, said Arya as she glanced around. 

“What did you expect exactly?” asked Sansa coolly. 

Arya folded her arms. 

“Well…first of all, I believed that you and Jon would be dressed in your finest clothes of red and black”, she replied. 

She then turned to Sam who stood by looking sheepish and somewhat shambling.

“And I expected him to be resplendent in the scarlet robes, swinging a thurible of burning incense and muttering incantations in High Valerian”, she continued.

She raised her arms and glanced around her family with exasperation in her eyes.

“Where is your sense of occasion people?” she asked. “All I see are a few lit torches shoved into the ground, a handful of glum relatives and sentries who probably wish they were back in the great hall supping ale”.

“Arya…hush”, said Jon as he interrupted her tirade. The wind was picking up and threatening to blow out the torches. Rhaegal was approaching.

“Finally”, grumbled Arya as she leaned against the weirwood tree.

Rickon covered his ears as the dragon screeches announced its arrival. 

“I’m not staying”, he mumbled as he turned towards the castle. “Let me know what happens”. 

We’ll know soon enough, thought Sansa, patting his shoulder as he passed by. 

The dragon skidded to a halt inches from the assembled family members and then delicately picked its way closer to the eggs. It bent down and sniffed at them, snorting oily smoke in the process. Jon’s face was neutral as he stroked the dragon’s neck and patted its flank. 

Rhaegal let out a guttural roar as it raised its head to the sky. Sansa could hear wolves howling in the distance as if calling in response. She watched a cloud drift past the moon while listening to scratching noises coming from below. 

The eggs clunked as they rolled into the pit. Rhaegal raised one its claws and pushed the mounds of dirt over the pit, filling in the hole at a rapid pace. Then it circled the around the hole warily, keeping its beady eyes fixed on the prize, its tail rising and falling rhythmically. 

“Everybody…please move back slowly and carefully”, said Jon as he began to take a few steps backwards.

Sansa grabbed the back of Bran’s chair and pulled him to a safer distance, never once letting her eyes stray from the creature glowering before her. 

Rhaegal shimmered in the moonlight as its scaly skin took on a warm, iridescent glow. Then it reared up on is hind legs and puffed up so big that it seemed to double in size before letting loose a long blast of fire at the pile of dirt that lit up the trees and the sky beyond. 

Flames licked at the surrounding grass but the sentries stood ready with buckets of water to douse the small fires before they could spread. All that was left was the hissing of steam as the last of the fires had been snuffed out. 

The dragon emitted a low rumble as Jon approached the former pit and knelt down. He watched the loose earth intently for a minute before lowering an ear to the ground. Everyone seemed to collectively hold their breath as Jon listened for signs of life. 

“Anything?” asked Sansa finally. 

Jon raised his head and shook it. Then he scrambled to his feet, brushing away the dirt from his hands and knees. 

“Well, at least it wasn’t a costly failure”, he said philosophically.

Sansa brushed back his curls and leaned in to give him a comforting hug. 

“Wait”, cried Arya. 

Rhaegal snorted and swiveled its head in her direction. Arya shrank back but continued to point at the dirt filled pit. A small hole had appeared and was rapidly growing in girth as dirt collapsed into its center. Then a small scaly limb popped out of the hole and began clawing frantically at the surface. 

Jon dropped to his knees once more and grunted as he began pushing aside the dirt to make way for the small creature emerging from the soil. 

Rhaegal raised its head and let out a thunderous roar as Jon lifted the baby dragon from the pit. Then another scrawny limb scrabbled at the surface in an effort to climb its way out.

Everyone watched in slack jawed awe as they witnessed the birth of two baby dragons from the cold northern soil. 

Rhaegal paced restlessly until Jon placed the tiny winged creatures on its back. Despite the gloom of the night, in the fading torchlight Sansa could see that one dragon was a brilliant shade of red with glints of gold while the other glowed blue and silver. 

The young dragons hissed and cried, clinging to the larger dragon’s back as Rhaegal readied to take flight. After taking a few paces backwards, the dragon crouched and flapped its emerald wings before rising into the sky with its young charges.

After the screeches echoed off the trees and the dragons faded into the night, Arya slid down the trunk of the tree until she rested on its roots. Then she raised her face to the sky, letting the moonlight bathe it in its eerie bluish light.

“Now that was a spectacle worth waiting for”, she murmured softly.


	77. Chapter 77

The list of petitioners had been as long as Sam’s forearm so Sansa was unsurprised that after the better part of the morning they were still cloistered in the great hall. The midday meal was almost prepared so she decided that an intervention might be in order.

When she entered the hall, she saw that Jon had slid down in his chair and was leaning his head on a hand, gamely trying to look attentive while listening to the man standing before him. Sam was scribbling furiously on the parchment, looking up only occasionally, while Bran sat inconspicuously off to one side with a large book of jurisprudence open in his lap and his head bowed. 

Sansa leaned against the wall, waiting for a moment when she could catch Jon’s eye. But the petitioner before him was not going to let this opportunity go to waste so he continued to drone on about hunting rights. She glanced at Bran once more and noticed that he hadn’t moved for several minutes. She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head to one side to get a bead on what she already suspected…her brother had fallen asleep.

Jon finally noticed her staring at Bran and raised a finger, signaling to the petitioner to halt his speech for a minute. He then rose from his chair with a concerned look on his face while Sansa walked quickly across the floor and crouched down beside her brother.

“Bran”, she whispered, shaking him gently. “Are you unwell? Shall we send for the maester?”

Her brother jerked awake and wiped away the spittle from the corner of mouth with the back of his hand. 

“I’m all right”, he slurred. “Just a little tired, is all”. 

Sansa took a whiff of his breath and looked up at Jon with a shake of her head. There was no indication that the fatigue was due to an excess of wine.

“It’s time for a break, ser”, she said briskly as she moved behind Bran’s chair. “Please join us for our repast and the king can continue to hear your petition in his solar this afternoon”. 

The man bowed and left the room to join his companions while the servants arrived to lay out the tables.

During the meal Bran appeared to be listless as he pushed his food around his plate. Arya nudged him. 

“What’s ailing you?” she asked.

“Nothing”, he replied irritably as he took a small bite of his meal before pushing the plate away. Then he nodded to his attendant that he was ready to leave. Sansa grabbed his arm as he was wheeled past her. 

“I’m coming with you”, she said in a tone which indicated that she would brook no argument. He nodded silently. 

When they reached his rooms, she dismissed the attendant. Then she wheeled him over to the fireplace and pulled up a chair before him before sitting herself down. 

“You’ve been moody and withdrawn for a few days now”, she said as she took one of his hands. “I know I’m a poor substitute for Mother but if you want to talk, I’m available”.

He gave her a lopsided smile before leaning forward.

“Don’t shortchange yourself, Sansa”, he said. “You’re a perfectly adequate substitute for Mother. But the bonus is that I don’t have to talk to you if I so choose”. 

Sansa winced at first. Then she began to chuckle softly.

“Right…point taken”, she replied as she released his hand. “Then I’m willing to listen as your sister and your friend…if you choose to share, that is”.

He gazed off with an expression on his face that was difficult to read before turning back to her. Then he dipped his head. 

“I’ve been plagued by nightmares as of late”, he said quietly. Then he raised his eyes.

“I keep seeing the face of a man…a very cruel man”, he continued.

“Do you know who he is?” asked Sansa.

Bran shook his head.

“No”, he replied. “I don’t know who he is nor where he lives. I do know that I have seen him before…the tree showed glimpses of him from the past committing unspeakable acts of horror”. 

His head swayed from side to side as his brow furrowed and his mouth tightened.

“I no longer sleep well at night”, he blurted out. “I cannot drive the image of this man from my mind. I have taken to warging into owls and other night birds when I cannot sleep…flying over shadowy hills and dark valleys trying to find a clue to his identity”.

“Oh Bran”, she said as she reached out to stroke his hair, “perhaps I could have the maester prescribe a sleeping draught”. 

He shook his head fiercely.

“No”, he replied, “I have to find him”. 

“To what end?” she asked.

“He must be destroyed”, he replied, glowering as he crossed his arms. “Because I won’t sleep until the world is rid of such evil”.

Jon was waiting in her solar when she entered the room.

“He’s overwrought”, she said. “He says he is haunted by some demon of a man and that he cannot sleep until he finds him. The man’s identity is a mystery…one that he says he must solve before he is able to rest easy again”.

“Can we help?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“He says not”, she replied. “He’s determined to forge ahead on his own”.

She hesitated before continuing.

“If he finds this man and he is a criminal, he assures me that he will inform us so that the man can be brought forward to face justice”, she said. 

The gods will surely punish me for lying, she realized silently, but I promised Bran I wouldn’t tell Jon what his real intentions were. There must be plausible deniability, he whispered. As the king, Jon must never know otherwise it could be construed as countenancing murder.

“Then you must be discreet in your actions”, she had replied. “This act must never be traced back to us...do you understand?”

He swallowed and nodded. 

Keeping a secret from Jon was difficult but she knew that this was the price she would have to pay for hearing her brother’s confession.

The days passed and Bran grew no better. Dark circles underscored his eyes and his skin became spotted and sallow. He became thinner as his obsession grew. 

Sansa approached him near the stables late one afternoon. One of the groomsmen was strapping Bran’s customized saddle on to a placid garron while Bran sat with his hands raised as if cupping the warmth of the summer sun. Rickon was mounted on his horse already, waiting patiently for his brother to join him. 

Sansa leaned over him, both hands planted firmly on the arms of his chair.

“You look like you’re finally at peace”, she whispered. 

He opened his eyes and glanced sideways at Rickon who was watching some birds with a bored-looking expression on his face.

“It is done”, Bran replied cryptically. 

Sansa nodded and straightened up. There was nothing more to be said.

The news came a fortnight later by a rider sent by Lord Manderly. 

“We found the body of a man who appeared to have been killed in a hunting accident, your Grace”, said the man as he rose up. “There is evidence that he was mauled to death by one or more of his own hounds”. 

Jon looked puzzled.

“If you give me the name of this man then I will be more than pleased to send condolences to his family”, he said, wondering why Lord Manderly had taken the trouble of sending a man to deliver such news when a raven would have sufficed. 

The man took a few steps forward and then halted. 

“Well, your Grace…therein lies a revelation”, replied the messenger, “the dead man appears to be Lord Ramsay Bolton”. 

Sansa could feel the blood drain from her face and she glanced at Jon who was leaning forward, his brows knitted in anger. 

“I was led to believe that the man was already dead”, he barked. “I was told that he died when Stannis attacked the Dreadfort”.

The messenger began to break into a sweat as he was faced with the king’s ire.

“Yes…well…that is the story that was passed around for years”, he stammered. “But then the truth gradually began to emerge that the body that was identified as his was…incorrect”. 

Jon glared at him. 

“How long has it been known that he might still be alive?” he asked.

“Not…not long, your Grace”, he replied. “I brought the instigator of this deception with me at Lord Manderly’s insistence. He was one of Bolton’s loyalists…he admitted to harbouring the man all this time”. 

Jon leaned back, his lips forming a thin line. 

“Bring him to me”, he growled.

The man nodded at one of the sentries who backed away into the corridor only to return seconds later with an elderly man who whose wrists were cuffed and chained together. 

The man was dragged before Jon and thrust to his knees. Sansa recognized him as Lord Willam Dustin, good-brother to the late Lord Roose Bolton.

“Explain yourself, ser”, said Jon, his voice charged with emotion.

“I swore an oath, your Grace”, he replied in a feeble voice, “I swore an oath to protect the Bolton clan when Lord Roose Bolton was declared Warden of the North”.

Sansa flushed with anger. The Boltons’ rise in power had come at the expense of the Starks’ fall from grace. 

Lord Dustin’s eyes were downcast as his head shook and he repeated the same phrase in a feeble voice: “I swore an oath…I swore an oath”.

Jon sighed deeply and nodded to the sentry.

“Release him”, he said. "Much as it pains me to say, I cannot fault the man for honouring his pledge of protection". 

Sansa looked at Jon, her eyes blazing, and then brushed aside the sentries posted at the door as she swept from the room. She could still hear echoes of Lord Dustin offering his thanks and promises of fealty in a quavering voice as she charged down the corridor. 

Arya caught her arm. 

“You look like you want to murder somebody”, quipped Arya. 

“I don’t want to discuss this right now”, replied Sansa as she continued to walk rapidly towards her chambers.

Arya lagged behind and caught the door before Sansa could slam it shut. 

“What did Jon do?” she asked.

Sansa paced agitatedly before the window and chewed on a nail.

“He let him go”, she replied.

“Who?” asked Arya.

“Lord Dustin”, Sansa replied as she paused. “It turns out that Ramsay Bolton survived Stannis’s assault on the Dreadfort and had been safely hidden away by Lord Dustin all these years”.

“You said “had”…past tense…” said Arya, her eyes seeking confirmation.

Sansa reached out to place a palm against the wall. 

“He’s finally dead…killed by his own hunting hounds”, she replied after a quick intake of breath. 

“Well”, said Arya with a small smile, “there’s a form of poetic justice”.

Sansa scrubbed her face.

“After what the bastard did to Jeyne…after what he did to all those poor wretched girls…I thought the least Jon could do is throw the old man in the dungeons for a few days to teach him a lesson”, she said. “Or lock him away with Shaggydog for a few hours”. 

Arya folded her arms and shifted her gaze to the window. 

“I expect he’ll be explaining himself to a higher power soon enough”, said Arya. 

Sansa stared at her.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

Arya cocked her head and frowned slightly.

“He’s an old man”, she explained. “Why…what did you think I meant?”

Sansa shook her head.

“Nothing…I…I didn’t mean to imply anything”, she stuttered.

The raven came a week later with the news that Lord Willam Dustin had passed away peacefully in his sleep while resting for the night at a roadside inn. Jon expressed his terse regrets to the Dustin family and reminded them that it would be advantageous for them to abandon past allegiances and make amends if they intended to enjoy continued favour with the King and Queen of Winter.

Sansa knocked on her sister’s door, the note still clutched in her hand. When Arya answered she thrust it at her. 

“Did you have anything to do with this?” she asked bluntly. 

Arya read the note and glanced up at Sansa with a look of incredulity.

“How could I have done this?” she hissed. “Did I suddenly sprout wings? Do you think that Jon summoned Rhaegal for me? Because, in case you haven’t noticed I haven’t been gone from Winterfell for more than a couple of hours at a time…not nearly long enough to seek out and do away with the lord of an old and distinguished house”.

Sansa’s face fell when she realized how foolish she had been in suspecting her sister had a hand in Lord Dustin’s death.

Arya pulled her into the safety of her room and closed the door gently.

“Do they suspect foul play?” she asked in a more urgent tone of voice. 

Sansa eyed her warily.

“I’m not aware of any misgivings”, she replied slowly. 

“Well", said Arya looking slightly relieved, "then there is nothing more to be said".

And that is as much as I will ever pry out of her, thought Sansa. She made her excuses and left to seek out her brother, Bran.

She found him in the library poring over a dusty tome. He looked up and smiled at her when she entered but then the corners of his mouth drooped when he saw the look on her face.

She glanced around the room before speaking.

“Are we completely alone?” she asked searching for signs of one of his attendants.

He nodded and pushed the book aside. Then he patted the chair next to his. 

“He won’t be back for another hour”, said Bran. “I told him I needed to be alone for a little while”.

Sansa swallowed before asking the question that had been burning on her soul.

“Did you have anything to do with Ramsay Bolton’s death?” she whispered.

She could see uncertainty clouding his eyes and his lips quivered before he finally spoke.

“Yes”, he said in a small voice.

She nodded slightly before continuing.

“Do…do you know if Arya had anything to do with Lord Dustin’s death?” she asked hesitantly.

She could see his face set into stony stubbornness but she was desperate to know the truth.

“Please, Bran”, she whispered, “I promise not to tell a soul. Not even Jon…especially not Jon”. 

She could see him struggle with his emotions. Then he gave a brief nod. 

“But she didn’t do it personally”, he said hastily. “She called in a favour…I…I looked after the master and she took care of the minion. She said he deserved to die for his betrayal. He had already pledged himself to another, Sansa…long before the Boltons…when he swore an oath to Robb”. 

She looked him squarely in the eye. 

“Then we will never speak of this again…not to anyone”, she whispered fiercely as she leaned over to give him a hug.


	78. Chapter 78

The news was sudden but not entirely unexpected. He had written a few scant weeks before, complaining of the cold which had set into his bones.

“I can no longer sit a horse for long”, he wrote. “So it is not possible to escape the grey specter of death, who beckons me with bony finger to join him in his kingdom of endless night”.

At first Sansa dismissed his words as the grumblings of a man unaccustomed to a more sedentary life as a retired warrior and vowed to visit him as soon as the twins were a little older and they could make the journey to Riverrun with the rest of the family. But now it was too late as the Blackfish was dead. 

She managed to keep her emotions in check as she fled to the safety of her solar which is where Jon sought her out once Sam broke the news to him.

“I should have to gone to him”, she wailed as she gripped Jon’s shirt. “I should have been with him when he took his final breath”.

Jon wrapped his arms around her tightly and stroked her hair as she sobbed into his chest. 

“You weren’t to know, Sansa”, he said. “He might have gone on for years…complaining about the damp, the mushy food and the bright young bucks who know nothing of how difficult it is to grow old and be pushed into the background of life”.

She clung to him until she had no more tears to shed. 

“You know…it’s not too late to say farewell”, he said. 

She stared up at him, her senses too dulled to comprehend.

“Sansa…his body lies in state until tomorrow. If we leave shortly we might reach Riverrun before night falls”, he explained. 

She glanced around the room with a look of dismay.

“But…we still have to pack…rearrange our schedules…make arrangements for the children”, she said as she waved one hand lightly. 

Jon folded a hand over hers and pulled it to his chest. 

“You’re over thinking this, Sansa. We have servants and advisers who are prepared to step in and look after our affairs until we return”, he replied. “Have your women make the necessary preparations and be ready to leave within the hour”.

As they departed Winterfell, they were accompanied by Rhaegal’s two young charges. The young dragons, as yet unnamed, flew in the wake of the older dragon, crisscrossing and calling to each other as they left trails of smoke drifting behind them.

They reached Riverrun just as the sun was beginning to sink behind the trees. As the dragons began to drop in altitude, Sansa studied the changes in the landscape that surrounded her mother’s ancestral home. 

The war had taken a severe toll on the Riverlands during its reign of terror. As troops rampaged through the region they torched the fields and felled many a tree. The farmers were left with muddy fields that turned into clay, baked by the midday sun. And when the blessed rains fell, the water rolled off the hardened soil and headed directly for the rivers. The magnificent waterways, swollen beyond capacity, spilled angrily over their banks and drove people from their homes, forcing them to seek higher ground.

Sansa recalled a time when the rivers grew so high that they threatened the high walls of Riverrun itself. Anxiety reached its peak as everyone watched and prayed for the waters to recede and become once again the placidly flowing waterways that had always been the heart and soul of the region.

Edmure Tully greeted them effusively but Sansa detected some nervousness when she saw him glance towards the dragons that circled ominously overhead. 

“Will they require housing and feeding?” he asked, pointing a shaky finger at them. 

Sansa could see a mischievous gleam begin to form in Jon’s eyes and she knew he was tempted to torment the poor man by demanding that he make room in the yard and empty his pens of pigs and goats so that the voracious creatures could feed. She caught Jon’s eye and gave him a look of warning which reminded him that although her Uncle Edmure was an ineffectual man, he was still family. 

Jon looked up into the sky that was settling into hues of indigo and nodded slightly. Rhaegal shrieked and began to beat its wings more rapidly as it turned away with the smaller dragons flapping furiously in its wake. 

“That won’t be necessary…they will remain a short distance away until we are ready to make our return journey”, he replied.

Edmure visibly sagged with relief as he watched the dragons’ silhouettes shrink against the fading light of the sky.

Edmure accompanied Sansa and Jon to the small reception chamber located above the Great Hall. There they found the body of the Blackfish lying on a carved wooden slab, resplendent in his battered armour and wrapped in a cloak of red and blue. And although his body had been drained of all fluids and anointed with fragrant oils, the whiff of decay hung in the still air of the closed off chamber. 

Sansa knelt by body and held the lifeless hand of the man who had been like a father to her since releasing her from the Eyrie.

While Jon stood stiffly by her side, his hand resting on her shoulder, she was aware of another presence in the room. She heard her uncle murmur a greeting and the rustle of skirts as she observed, from the corner of her eye, a shadow emerge into the flickering candlelight. It was Roslin Tully. 

She felt Jon’s hand gripping her shoulder more tightly as if to hold her fast as she took a quick intake of breath. Sansa closed her eyes briefly before rising to her feet. 

“Your grace”, murmured Roslin, curtseying before them. 

The years had not been kind to Roslin. Her once soft, dewy features had hardened into sharp planes and her chin quivered as she regarded Sansa and Jon with sorrowful eyes. 

“He…he was a good man”, said Roslin, barely meeting their gaze as she twisted at the handkerchief clutched in her hands. “He was always…kind to me”.

Sansa sighed and glanced at Jon before extending a hand to her uncle’s wife. 

“That he was…good and brave. He will be sorely missed”, she replied warmly.

Roslin flashed a wan smile before linking her arm with her husband’s.

“We will show you to your rooms and then I expect you will want a bite to eat before you retire for the night”, she said as she gestured to them to follow her. 

The evening air was warm and sweet, heavy with the scent of the wildflowers that grew along the river. Sansa dragged Jon out for a walk, accompanied by two of the Tully guards. 

“That was not as awkward as I feared”, said Jon quietly as they strolled along the path that bordered the water. The moonlight shimmered and danced on the surface while the rushes swayed in the breeze. 

“Truthfully…I forgave her years ago when I realized that she would have been powerless to stop the slaughter”, replied Sansa. “So any guilt she still bears is self-imposed…I have nothing to do with it”. 

Then she stopped and turned to face him.

“But what of you?” she asked searching his face. “Do you still harbour any ill will? You and Robb were as close as brothers could be…do you forgive her for being born into a family of murderers?”

He cupped her face and leaned in to kiss her forehead.

“Anger and rage have a habit of eating away at you from the inside. So while I will never forget the part her family played in Robb’s death…your mother’s initial death…and the death of hundreds of Stark loyalists…I have no choice but to reconcile my feelings and offer her forgiveness”. 

As they lingered for a few minutes longer to admire the stars that clustered in the sky, Sansa recalled from the recesses of her memory lessons on astronomy with Maester Luwin.

“Castor and Pollux”, she said tracing an invisible line between the formations of stars that burned so brightly in the firmament. “The twin brothers that loved each other so dearly that they were permitted to spend eternity together. Now they act as beacons of light in the sky to help guide weary travelers home.”

Jon gazed solemnly into the sky and repeated the names softly.

“Do you think they would serve as suitable names for Thing One and Thing Two?” he asked, a smile forming on his lips. 

Sansa looked at him in astonishment.

“Well…this is a turn up for the books”, she exclaimed. “Are you actually bestowing on me the honour of naming your new dragons?”

He grinned and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“They are our dragons, my love”, he replied. “And yes…feel free to name them as you please”.

“Then Castor and Pollux shall be their names henceforth”, she said with a note of satisfaction in her voice. 

The family gathered by the river the next morning as a cool mist rose off the water, shrouding the pale sun as it peeked above the horizon. 

The Blackfish was laid out in a wooden punt that was tethered to the shore. The pommel of his sword was tucked under his crossed arms while his bow and a quiver full of arrows rested by his side.

He has all that he needs for whatever afterlife awaits him, thought Sansa, as she listened to the waves lap at the side of the boat. 

Edmure recited a few somber words to commemorate the Blackfish’s accomplishments and then stood silently before them. Minutes passed before Sansa leaned over to speak to Jon.

“What is he waiting for?” she whispered. “Surely now is the time to set the boat ablaze and send Nuncle off to his reward”.

“There has been a change to the proceedings”, said Jon as he raised his eyes to sky. The wind picked up and she deduced what was to come.

Rhaegal came roaring out of the sun with the younger dragons in hot pursuit. Edmure gave the signal to cut the line and shove the boat towards the fast-flowing current as the dragons bore down on it. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the dragons as they formed a trident and skimmed over the surface of the water in their final approach before Rhaegal unleashed a blast of flame to set the grave boat afire as the river carried it downstream. Then they flew off into the sky and disappeared as quickly as they appeared.

After a few minutes, the boat turned a bend in the river and drifted out of sight. And when they could no longer see smoke curling over the reeds they knew that the boat had finally collapsed and sunk to the bottom of the river, taking the Blackfish to his final resting place in the waters that surrounded his home. 

“When?” asked Sansa, turning to Jon as the family began to disperse. 

“Edmure came to see me before breakfast”, replied Jon as he took her hand to help her up the steep embankment. “He said it was the Blackfish’s fondest wish that his grave boat be finished off by dragon fire”.

Sansa snorted.

“A likely story”, she said. “I think Edmure took advantage of our presence, knowing full well that the spectacle the dragons would provide would be vastly superior to the humiliation he was bound to suffer trying to set the boat on fire himself. His lack of skill with the bow is legendary”.

“Well”, said Jon with a shrug of his shoulders, “at least you can’t accuse him of lacking showmanship”.

Sansa laughed and then sighed. 

“You were duped but in the end I think the old codger would have approved…every ancient warrior wants to go out with a bang instead of a whimper. And what could be more glorious than to be set ablaze by dragon fire before taking your final rest beneath the calm, blue waters of home”, she said as she paused to gaze at the river one last time before passing through the castle gate.


	79. Chapter 79

The deer was a yearling buck, the buttons on its skull still resembling fat, fuzzy thumbs. The young direwolves nipped at the tendons in its legs and bit into its belly while keeping a wary eye for the quick flick of a hoof that could send them flying. Nymeria circled the scene, keeping watch over her sons and daughters as they became more persistent in their attempts to take down their prey. 

The direwolves took turns pursuing the animal with a couple of them driving the deer at a fast pace while the others hung back to conserve their energy. They were learning fast how to wage a war that was slow and patient, proving yet again that the wolves were not only frightening because of their claws and their sharp teeth but also because of their ferocious intelligence and hunger.

The deer hung on, past the point of total exhaustion, in the vain hope that it could escape its fate…that what its gut was telling it was untrue. But as it began to stumble, the wolves closed in like shadows, growling directions to each other. Nymeria held back to allow the younger ones to maintain the deer’s attention before latching on to the deer’s thigh as hard as she could, penetrating the thick hide that still bore traces of the coarseness of its thick winter coat. 

The deer screamed and tried to bolt away through the middle of the pack of young direwolves but Nymeria hung on firmly, her teeth gripping the strap of skin and muscle. The deer collapsed to the ground, its flank still firmly lodged in Nymeria’s jaws. As her children descended on their prey and began tearing at its exposed belly, Nymeria released the buck and backed away slowly, allowing them to enjoy their first kill together as a pack. 

As the young direwolves ripped into the soft flesh of the deer, Sansa held on to the reins tightly as her horse danced nervously in the face of such carnage. The direwolves had now gone into a full state of frenzy as the taste of blood drove them to snap and rip some more. 

“Magnificent”, said Arya with a clap of her hands. 

Out of the corner of her eye Sansa could see Ghost, Summer and Shaggydog emerging from the surrounding trees and edging closer to their sister. 

One by one the young direwolves drifted away from the remains of their prey, their tongues flicking at the last bloody vestiges of the deer until all that was left were gnawed bones and bits of fur that wafted into the air as the wind began to rise. Nymeria growled softly at her children as they gathered around her, their tails swishing in triumph. She licked at their ears and nudged their behinds as they proudly circulated around their uncles.

Sansa watched the scene silently, her stomach roiling, while Arya dismounted her horse and strode over to Nymeria’s side. She patted the direwolf’s head and stroked her back while murmuring words of approval. Then she glanced at her sister. 

“Are you all right, Sansa?” she asked with a furrowed brow, noting the look of distress on her sister’s face. Then a look of understanding passed over Ayra’s face.

“Sorry…I expect you’ve never seen the direwolves hunt before”, she said as she gave Nymeria a final pat. 

Sansa shook her head, her face pale and still. 

“I had heard the stories… mainly from Jon… but I have never witnessed such bloodlust before now”, she said, tripping over her words slightly as they burst from her mouth.

Arya flashed a crooked smile.

“Aye…it is a savage sight to see them tear into their prey. But did you notice the level of cooperation that it took to corral the deer…how they stalked it relentlessly and waited for that perfect moment to take it down when it was in its most vulnerable state?” she said before kissing her fingertips. “That…was poetry in motion”. 

Sansa looked away into the trees for a split second before turning back to her sister. 

“They’re able to hunt successfully because they are family, Arya”, she said. “A lone wolf, separated from its pack, will never survive as long in the wilderness. Lone wolves may be stronger and more aggressive, but they are more susceptible to attack and will always have more difficulty bringing down larger prey”.

Arya frowned at her before remounting her horse.

“We’re not really talking about Nymeria and her pups any longer…are we”, she said as she turned her horse towards home.

Sansa gathered up the reins and kicked at the flanks of her horse in pursuit of her sister with the pack of direwolves bringing up the rear. 

“You know how I feel about you leaving us again”, said Sansa as she caught up with her sister.

The air was filled with the twittering of birds, the rustling of leaves and unspoken words as the horses trotted amiably side by side. Sansa signaled Arya to stop as she pulled on the reins.

“Arya…please reconsider Jon’s offer to accompany him on his trade mission to Dorne”, pleaded Sansa. “They still want you to come and I won’t be able to rest knowing that you are out there wandering the roads alone”.

Arya twisted her mouth in reflection and stared at tree tops before returning her gaze to her sister’s face which was brimming with anxiety. 

“It was a half-hearted offer at best. Besides, to what purpose…he can’t seriously expect me to participate in these talks because I can’t think of anything more boring than endless chatter about trade regulations and tariffs”, she replied. 

“I’m sure you could be occupied elsewhere for the duration”, said Sansa brightly. “You could offer him extra protection…an adjunct, in a way, to his kingsguard”.

Arya snorted.

“Sansa, he is a man with dragons…how much more protection could he possibly require”, she replied, “unless, of course, you are hoping that I’ll act as a barrier between Jon and the ample charms of Princess Arianne”.

Sansa felt her face burn as she flushed with embarrassment and anger. 

“Did he tell you?” she sputtered. “Because I swear…”

Arya shook with laughter.

“No…Jon is the soul of discretion. You should know that by now”, she replied in between chuckles. “Your face betrays you every time her name is mentioned. Your reaction now simply confirms what I already suspected”. 

As her laughter subsided Arya reached out and took her sister’s hand.

“While I am fully aware of Jon’s many attractions, I sincerely doubt Arianne is interested in seducing a shaggy-haired, taciturn northern monarch whose love and devotion to his wife and family is well known so put your mind at ease”, said Arya, squeezing her hand lightly. “Never forget, Sansa, that the two of you managed to marry for love…not for political advantage”.

Sansa gave her a grateful smile as they urged their horses forward. 

“I’ll go with him on one condition”, said Arya suddenly. “After the mission has concluded, I will accompany him on a journey of self-discovery…a pilgrimage of sorts. We will visit the site where the Tower of Joy once stood and then we will move on to Starfall to visit with the Daynes. I’m sure Jon has a lot of questions surrounding his birth that they might be forthcoming in answering after so much time has passed”. 

Sansa nodded.

“I will present him with your proposal when we return”, she said. 

She cornered him in his solar after the midday meal after Sam had deposited a pile of papers on his desk for his perusal. Jon was grumbling and glaring at the mountain of paperwork. His face brightened when Sansa entered the room.

“Come to help me?” he asked with a sly look on his face. 

Sansa faltered for a second as she remembered the last time. 

“Hmmm…tempting but I’m needed in the kitchen shortly to plan the menus for the week”, she said briskly.

Jon looked disappointed until she leaned forward. She shoved the papers aside and whispered that he was welcome to meet her in her chambers later that afternoon for a quick tryst. He rose from his chair and walked around the desk so that he could pull her towards him and brush his lips against hers. Then she squirmed with pleasure as he tickled her ear with his hot breath, murmuring all the things he wanted to do to her later.

“Stop it”, she hissed as she struck his chest in mock anger. “You’re distracting me from my real purpose for coming to see you”.

He drew back, a broad smirk still on his face. Then he gestured for her to continue. She proceeded to outline Arya’s proposal.

“So”, she concluded, “do you agree to her bargain?”

He looked at her thoughtfully before nodding.

“I can agree to those terms”, he replied, “as long as she is prepared to behave as a member of the royal retinue and act accordingly”. 

Sansa gave him a wry smile.

“You might need to better define such behaviour because, based on what I witnessed in Kings Landing, the royals do not behave much better than the small folk”, she said. “Perhaps you could start with rule number one being don’t embarrass your good-brother, the king, with stories of his wayward youth…such as the time he got drunk at a banquet in honour of the Karstarks and ended up passing out in the glass gardens after pissing all over my mother’s prized roses”. 

Jon shook his head ruefully.

“Arya and I have enough shared history that she could destroy my heroic stature and easily turn my feet into clay”, he said with a laugh.

Sansa leaned against his shoulder.

“Alas…such are the perils of being a living legend…people are bound to find out eventually that you are simply a living, breathing person who eats, sleeps and passes wind just like everyone else in the world”, she said. 

After a fortnight’s preparation, Jon, Sansa and Arya stood outside in the pre-dawn light, a prelude to the journey ahead. Jon had already made his goodbyes to his children, waking them one by one from their deep slumber for a last hug and kiss. Torrhen tried to look stoic but his trembling lower lip betrayed his sadness over his father’s departure. Lyra sniffled loudly and clung to her father’s neck until he managed to gently disengage himself with the promise to bring her back exotic Dornish sweets. Edwyn and Alysane, curled up tightly together, raised their heads briefly as Jon bestowed a kiss on each of their brows and then immediately fell back asleep, their pink, plump lips slightly parted. 

“Wine”, said Sansa when asked what gifts she preferred from Dorne. “Oh…and bolts of silk…in bright colours”.

“Do you intend to start a new fashion trend at court?” asked Jon.

“Maybe”, she replied. “We need a change from the dark, dreary colours of the past. This is a new world, a new regime…it’s time to make a few, albeit gradual, changes”.

They stood together on the battlement with their arms wrapped around each other. The air was warm and heavy with the scent of summer flowers that were in bloom. They were serenaded by the birds that were now awake and calling to each other as they flit from branch to branch. And in those few moments of tranquility, Sansa was reminded of a similar morning on a cold, winter’s day almost three years ago. 

While Val and Ayra spoke quietly nearby, Ghost appeared to doze at Jon’s feet, his twitching ears the only sign that he was still alert to any dangers that may arise. Sansa raised her eyes to the sky that was rapidly changing colour as the sun rose over the horizon. 

“I have no regrets”, she said without preamble.

Jon gave her a puzzled look.

“About what exactly?” he asked.

“Bringing dragons to the north”, she replied. “They saved us, Jon…without them we would have died”.

Jon sighed heavily and turned away briefly.

“No”, he said, “we saved ourselves because we chose to believe that dragons were the answer to our prayers”.

Sansa looked at him blankly.

“Faith is never giving up hope despite seemingly insurmountable odds, Sansa”, he explained softly. He picked up her long braid and brushed the end against his cheek.

“The dragons were a gift from the gods that we chose to accept”, he continued. “It was our faith in each other, our family, our friends and our allies that saved us in the end. We chose never to lose hope because the alternative was to lie down and die. I know we have had our doubts along the way but we had to make a leap of faith into the unknown, hoping against all reason that the choices that we made were right and just”.

She nestled closer and rested her ear against his chest to listen to pounding of his heart.

“I never doubted you for a second”, she whispered fiercely. “Though sometimes I felt like a small child taking her first steps. But I learned to banish fear so I could march forward with you in lockstep all the way”.

He smiled as he rested his chin on her head.

“You are right to not let fear rule your life”, he said softly, “as long as your actions are tempered with caution”.

She tilted her head up so that her eyes met his.

“When have I ever been the rash one?” she complained poking a finger into his chest. 

He grinned and shook his head. 

“You will always ground me when you believe I’m flying too close to the sun, Sansa”, he said with a chuckle. “You keep my worst impulses in check”.

“That is the fiery side to your temperament”, she replied. “Nevertheless, I will remain open to the notion of having dragons in our midst as long as you can keep them under control”.

Jon then surprised her by sinking to one knee and taking both of her hands in his. She could hear Arya and Val’s barely stifled giggles behind her.

“You are an amazingly tolerant woman, Sansa Stark”, he declared loudly. She yanked impatiently at his hands.

“Jon…get up”, she hissed. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself”. 

As he scrambled to his feet she could feel the winds begin to rise. She grabbed at her skirts as Jon held on to her tightly. The dragons’ screeches filled the air and bounced off the walls of the castle. 

“Promise me you’ll come back as soon as you’re able”, she said breathlessly as she gripped his shirt with both hands and pulled him closer. “Don’t let Arya drag you all across Dorne just to fulfill some misguided sense of wanderlust. You belong here with me, Jon Snow…with me, your children and the rest of your family. I don’t give two figs about anyone else…just us”.

She glanced at the three dragons as they winged their way closer to their destination, dark shadows against the brightening sky. Jon raised her hand and kissed her fingertips and stroked her hair.

“I will always return to you”, he replied. “That is my solemn promise”. 

“Good”, she replied, “because when my faith waivers, I have to know that I can still count on you”.

“Always, my love”, he replied softly as he held her hand to his heart. “I will never let you down…our faith in each other will always sustain us no matter what life throws our way”.


End file.
